


To Where Dreams Die

by elluvias



Series: To Where Dreams Die [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, This will hurt, also howard stark is a very bad man in this fic, and a lot more human, and there's mentions of him abusing tony, bucky is just hurting a lot, bucky is not okay with captain america, but nothing in graphic detail, he is in fact very far from being okay with captain america, he's still not okay with captain america but at least he makes a good babysitter, it is heartwarming and will soothe the ache of what has yet to come, now, now he is more than a babysitter, oh hey i decided to give some fluff in the third chapter, somehow bucky now has custody of a child, sort of, suicidal behavior, there's some descriptions of torture, yea he shows up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 12:37:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 57,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1941399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elluvias/pseuds/elluvias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky Barnes never pretended to be a good man so he didn't understand what Steve saw in him. He still can't understand why Captain America wants him around, especially since he isn't Steve and has no reason to see the 'good' in Bucky. It's an admirable effort though, the charade, unfortunately Bucky knows Steve is dead.</p><p>--<br/>Bucky Barnes has been broken for years, even before he became the Winter Soldier. To him Steve Rogers has been dead since Captain America was born. In which Bucky starts to find a way to live, Steve learns things he never knew before, and everything hurts until it eventually it won't and there might even be a happily ever after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Avelera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avelera/gifts), [Salvia_G](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salvia_G/gifts), [Moonrose91](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonrose91/gifts), [jezebel_rising](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jezebel_rising/gifts), [FannishMinded](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FannishMinded/gifts).



Sometimes Bucky wonders what Steve sees him as. Because there sure as hell ain’t no way that Steve sees Bucky as he is, because Bucky is sin and shadow and darkness, he’s the dirt in the gutters and the whispers in the alleyways. He’s not good, not even close to it. He is a dagger dipped in poison and he’s made to slip in the back, no one is supposed to see him coming until it is far too late. Then they’re dead, or well bloodied up and cursing before running away.

Steve’s an angel. Not the soft sort that people talk about coming up to cuddle them into safety or some warm bullshit like that. Protestants like to forget that angels are made of fire, duty, light, they can’t be looked at because it’ll fuck you up, they can’t be coerced by anything other than their own minds. They are Grace and Grace ain’t some warm fuzzy forgivness bullshit. Grace is pain, it is the path of the righteous, which is always the hardest to take. Steve’s so fucking bright it hurts sometimes.

And Bucky is a demon, he doesn’t do righteous as much as he does fury. He’s got anger in him, he’s got a sickness in him bone deep. Love’s never wrong until it is, until it’s Bucky realizing that his heart is never going to be given to anyone else but Steven Grant Rogers. His heart is lost to him, his soul probably never existed, and all he has left is his body and he gives that out freely enough. Sometimes he wonders how much sex, booze, and fighting it’ll take for Steve to wise up and realize Bucky isn’t good. He can’t be saved. All he is is some Brooklyn trash with no future and a sinner’s mind.

Besides Bucky knows god hates him. Has to hate him. There ain’t nothing else for it because the only thing that Bucky’s ever prayed for gets ignored and spat upon. Because Bucky’s Steve is gone, Bucky’s Steve is not in Brooklyn, Bucky’s Steve is in Europe but not.

Because whoever the hell is standing there ain’t Bucky’s Steve. He’s Captain America. It’s like he’s in Zola’s lab again, hallucinating something sweet and bitter all at once. Except this Captain America is real and Steve isn’t. Steve’s dead and buried probably and some weird changling has taken his place. It’s the worst thing in the world to realize that the man he loved no longer exists and in his place is the Star Spangled Man.

Though even though Captain America ain’t Steve and ain’t ever gonna be Steve, Bucky still finds that he’s enough of a bastard to be a possessive little shit. He hates Peggy Carter on sight, because that’s a dame Steve would walk into walls for and this is the dame that makes Captain America tongue tied. He wants to punch her in the face, he wants to hurt her in ways Steve would punch him for thinking about, because she is part of why Steve is dead. She took Steve’s heart and she took Steve too and now Bucky is left with a ghost and demons that won’t let him sleep.

So it isn’t a surprise he turns to whiskey to numb the pain and the impotent rage and the choking clawing grief in his throat. Captain America doesn’t know what’s wrong, why Bucky is distant and drowning and the only ones who understand are Morita and Falsworth and they aren’t going to explain anything yet.

Because they’re good men, better than Bucky at least, and they aren’t gonna out him. Not when he’s the best damn sniper in the forces right now, not when even broken and filthy as he is he rounds out Captain America’s edges, picks up his slack, and makes the Commandos work. Because Captain America is good at plans and good at speeches occasionally, but Bucky’s the one who takes the personalities given to them and fits them into places that makes them work. Captain America gets better the longer it goes on, but he doesn’t have the people skills quite like Bucky and doesn’t see the fight before it is about to start until even a deaf and blind American can. Bucky was the one who had to notice tense atmospheres and drag Steve out before Steve even realized a problem might be starting.

‘Cause to be honest Steve had a shitton of booksmarts but Bucky was the one who navigated the cesspool of life they lived in. Steve didn’t know how to work with people well who didn’t just shut up and follow him or were Bucky. Not that he didn’t have some kindness in his heart, Steve had a lot of kindness, wrapped up in his righteousness. It didn’t matter who you were, if you needed help Steve would give it. Which meant Bucky was giving it too because Steve could not be left alone at all.

Bucky should have ignored his draft. He really should have. Leaving Steve alone ended up with Steve dead and Captain America in his place.

God Bucky just wanted it to stop. He wanted to have hopes and dreams again. Now he was left with ashes and no future and no love and sometimes he just wanted to walk out into the woods and never come back. But he owed Steve’s ghost this much, to see the war through. Fuck even his righteous fury over being made a lab rat had fizzled out now and all that was left was bone deep wariness.

Wariness that was as deep as Bucky’s love for Steve was. He just wanted to curl up and stop, just stop and breathe and be allowed to grieve. Except how could he grieve when Steve was ‘standing’ right next to him. How could anyone think Bucky would be okay with this. Yea sure Steve’s illnesses would’ve been cured, which was so good it would’ve been a miracle. Except Steve’s illnesses died with Steve and Bucky had nothing left except a ghost to direct him. He was going to let Captain America keep pointing him at targets til there were no more targets left, til there were no more ‘bullies’ to put back in their place. Then when it was over, Bucky would be able to stop everything. He’d be able to walk away and keep walking til he found something to make the agony stop.

Bucky didn’t want a white picket fence or a wife or kids. He wanted his skinny asthmatic firecracker back, the one who steadied him and gave him light when he didn’t deserve it. He wanted his shitty apartment back with his shitty job, and it’d be okay because Steve would be there.

Steve wasn’t anywhere anymore. That hurt the most. Being the one to survive, because Bucky had been hedging bets he’d bite it before Steve. Now he was the survivor and surviving fucking sucked.

It was all that was left of him now, even less than before, more darkness, more hate, more bitterness, less love, and less care. He was slowly freezing on the inside, numbing up and dying, like he had some bad case of frostbite. He was stuck in winter now, with no hope of anything else. Maybe he should go to Russia, he heard that winter was long there. Maybe he’d freeze outside just like he was inside. Yea, Russia would be the place to go to end it all. As far from Brooklyn as one could get, unlike the rough hellish beauty he grew up in. It would be a place that didn’t have a memory of Steve and that would be perfect. To just stop being in a place where Steve had never existed in the first place.

Russia then, if his body could make it. Russia to die and let Captain America have his shining American future. Because America dreams were made and in Russia dreams died.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Asset finds Peggy Carter and Tony Stark realizes that his daddy issues are pretty tame.

The asset sat in the chair that Captain America once sat in. His blue eyes were dead, cold, as vast and unending as the winter in Siberia and just as harsh. His face was thinner than it had been in a long while, though clean shaven, his dark hair pulled back into a high ponytail with wispy strands falling to frame his face. The old woman sat on the bed, staring at him as if he were a ghost or the grim reaper and honestly he was both. The asset was no longer human and had not been human in decades. But there was something almost human left in him, that was so cold it burned inside him.

“I hate you.” The asset’s voice was flat, it was stating a fact and not making an impassioned speech. He could have been pointing out that today was cloudy, that there might be rain later, that the woman on the bed was dying a slow death because her body was betraying her. “I always have. Even when I do not remember anything else I know I hate you.” It was not cheerful either, these words. It was simply informing the woman that she had earned the darkest of devils gaze and it was not inclined to be merciful.

“You’d expect me to kill you. But I won’t. Death right now would be merciful, because there are still shreds of you inside Agent Carter. Death by my hand would be honorable. You do not deserve honor.” Folding his hands together his eyes did not narrow, his face did not change, but the room became darker and colder all the same. “You deserve to die slowly as your mind and body betray you. You deserve to wake up expecting to be young and see a withered husk of what you were. You deserve to die knowing that from the moment you began Shield it was infiltrated and tainted by Hydra, that your attempts to save the country and the world instead began to break it apart even more. You deserve to die knowing that in your vanity of trying to live up to the Star Spangled Man your hands are covered in the blood of the people who died at the hands of Hydra while it infected your dream. You deserve to see what you wrought.”

The woman on the bed gasped for breath and her eyes did not flicker in fear even though she reeked of it. The asset was good at reading people, at knowing when they were afraid or when they were angry. The old woman was both.

“May whatever soul you possess go to the furthest pits of hell.” He murmured his prayer like one of the penetint asking for mercy. But it was not asking for mercy, it was asking for pain, and the Asset vaguely remembered that God never gave the asset good things after he felt more for Steve Rogers. This would not be a good thing for the asset knew if God did exist and souls went to heaven, hell, or purgatory that the asset was going to hell as well. Which would be good, because for what he had done likely made him good material for potential demon and if he got there before Agent Carter did then….well eternity was a long time and the asset had learned many things at the hands of the Red Room and Hydra.

“Bucky you can’t blame me for what happened.” Agent Carter tried to plea.

The asset turned from where he was standing now, about to move to the door. There was no laugh that escaped him, but the look he gave her was of cold mockery. “I can. You stole my heart and killed it, took its memory and twisted it. I can blame you as much as I wish because it is my right to. I do not have many rights anymore, but I am allowed to hate and I have hated you since before I let Bucky Barnes be wiped away. So I will watch you die slowly and revel in it, just as I feel satisfaction that Howard Stark’s legacy is as close to the truth as one could get and the truth makes him as despicable as he was. It is a good thing Tony is not his father, if he was, I’d kill him too. But as broken as that man boy is he is still far better than anyone who touched Project Rebirth.”

“Even Steve?”

“Steve is dead. What is left is a changling with a ghost for a soul. The war is over and my obligation to that ghost is done. My life debt to it has been repaid.” The asset blinked at Agent Carter. “The Red Room did not break me with their torture. You did, you all did long before they touched me. I gave in to them when I could not die because they told me they would take the memories away. Being remade and wiped clean hurt far less than being broken by ‘allies’. The only good that ever came of it, I think, were the Howling Commandos. In my file it explicitly states that I would not tolerate or condone their assassinations or murder by Red Room or Hydra’s hands. They kept their word and even looked after them and their progeny from a distance. I do not remember them honestly but I know that they were far more precious than anything else, even when I had lost everything else I had them and they made sure I functioned. Making sure they were protected was the only way I suspect I could repay their kindness.”

Agent Carter’s lips thinned a spark of anger starting to override her fear. “Steve isn’t dead. He’s still alive no thanks to you. Besides if you can’t remember anything how can you remember the Howling Commandos?”

“I can read. I can also extrapolate that if I asked for their protection, that I made it a condition of my willingness to become their weapon, that I must have loved them. My love for them was likely the last vestiges of humanity I had. It no longer exists as it once did, it is an impression of a feeling, but even an impression shows how much I felt for them. I have no impression for Zola, I have no impression for my family, I have no impression for the 107th. I have impressions for them though. I have actual feelings towards you and the Star Spangled Man.”

Then the asset turned his head, staring at where the camera was that monitored Agent Carter’s room. His eyes were glacial.

“You saved my life once, Star Spangled Man, and now I have saved yours in deference to the debt and the love I once had for the man you stole from me. Do not hunt me, do not follow me, do not find me. I will stay away from your American Dream of justice and freedom, I will work away from the places you tread and you will honor my truce with leaving me be. I will even refuse contracts on your associates.” Tilting his head he did not sneer exactly, but his eyes were mocking once more. “Thank you for your assistance in creating me though. I would have likely resisted if I still had Steve Rogers to come back to.”

Then with precision he walked out the door and into the hall. He slipped by security and into the street where he disappeared once more like a wisp of smoke.  
\--

“Holy shit. Did we just, did he just…Jesus fucking Christ Rogers your friend has _issues_.” Stark flailed for words as the Avengers sat, the ending of the security video paused on the large projector in the conference room. There were varying states of shock and horror on everyone’s faces, even Natasha looked surprised at what they had just witnessed. It was obvious by the end of it that the Winter Soldier had meant for them to see that, that he had meant for them to hear that.

“Bucky?” Stark didn’t know he had never wanted to hear Steve’s voice break like that, he didn’t want to know it could wibble, and he certainly didn’t want to know that Steve Rogers could look like his heart was shattered into a million pieces in his chest and that there was no way to fix it. “ _Bucky_.” Steve wasn’t reaching out towards the projection but his voice sure sounded like it, hell it sounded like he wanted to crawl into the video and cling to the ragged tatters of the man who had been standing there with all the dark vengeance of a fallen angel.

Tony had grown up on stories of Bucky Barnes. Hell he had always liked Bucky the best in his dad’s stories because Bucky didn’t have brawn on his side, he had brains and cleverness. He was the guy who had done the dirty shit Cap couldn’t officially touch. He had been a soldier, yea, but what made him great was all the shit on the inside and not what came out of a bottle. Even as a child Tony had wondered why no one else had put as much effort into retrieving Barnes’ body as they had for Captain America. Yea sure Cap was an icon, but Bucky was a hero too and his body would’ve been easier to find than Cap’s and shouldn’t he have gotten a good fucking funeral.

Stark didn’t want to say it, he wasn’t, because he did know what tact was. But he was thinking it pretty loudly that Bucky probably got shafted a whole lot for him to turn out that broken and that twisted. Sure he was a bit…pissed off that Bucky had killed his dad, but it also seemed like…well yea sure he had lots of issues and most of them stemming from Steve but maybe Bucky had a point with Howard not being so good. Actually he probably had a helluva point and he was going to look into it, because an amnesiac assassin pretty much said Tony was a better man than Howard and well…there wasn’t a reason for him to lie on that point really. Not because Tony was a better man, but because Bucky didn’t have a dog in the hunt for making Tony feel like a human being. And he did have a point of Hydra easily infiltrating Shield from the get go, like Jesus they let Zola live. Which Tony would have called it a ‘no’ and just clubbed that creepy bastard of the head until he stopped breathing.

Because there was genius, there was genius that could be reformed, and then genius that would bite you in the ass. Zola had always been in the last category and if no one else had seen it then they were deaf dumb and blind. Sure shady shit had to happen to keep the world turning, but not so shady as letting Zola live.

Shaking his head Tony scrubbed a hand over his face. “I think we need a break or…or something. Right now, like Avengers disassemble until we get a hold of ourselves and can make plans that don’t involve getting the world’s best and most terrifying assassin super pissed at all of us.”

“Stark I can handle this. I’m good.”

“Yea no. No you aren’t. You just heard that your best friend fucking loved you and doesn’t think that you are you and hasn’t for a long time. That he wanted to have his memory wiped and that he also killed my dad and wants Carter to have a long slow very natural death. Cap we all need like a ten minute break to deal with trying to resolve Bucky Barnes is not all shiny and wholesome as we were taught and told and you need like a week to come to terms with the fact that Bucky wasn’t all that you thought he was, because he was a lot more and a lot less than you saw him to be. So yea, breaktime. I’m going to break open my liquor cabinet, anyone wanting anything is willing to join me.”

Because fuck he needed a stiff drink or twelve and he was pretty sure most everyone else did too. Except Thor, because he didn’t understand the true significance of what just went down but once he did then he was going to need like five kegs to be able to cope with the shit that just flew in through the window. Well there was one good thing that came out this, at least, his daddy issues and Thor’s family issues in general were now not the most fucked up emotional baggage the Avengers had anymore. Huzzah.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The asset is more like Bucky Barnes than he'd ever like to admit and decides to claim a child as his new mission.
> 
> Less pain and some fluff in this chapter.

Yakov Buchanan didn’t actually exist. He had not been born to any mother, he had had no father, and he had never been a child. That having been said said, Yakov existed now because Yakov was not Vanya or the Asset and he was not Bucky. He had been Russian longer than he’d ever been an American and it wouldn’t be right for him to just try and ignore that part of him. He couldn’t ignore the fact that he had once been James Buchanan Barnes 32557038 either. So Yakov had found compromise when trying to find an identity for himself.

It had been months since his last memory wipe. A curse really, despite the pain it had always brought him when it needed to be done. His mind, as the scientists had noted over and over again, had been unusually resilient. No matter how deep the programming went, no matter how many times they had pried all of his memories out of his brain, left by himself for too long then he’d start remembering. Yakov had always been a stubbornly tenacious bastard flourishing where everyone else had broken and died.

When the memories would come, because they would always come, Yakov only wanted to spit on himself for his mind’s unwillingness to let him have a life that was not tainted by the ghost of Steve Rogers. Yakov wondered if he could ask a priest for help in exorcising the apparition from his past. Upon further rumination Yakov realized he’d probably just end up being set on fire if he tried to go onto any sort of holy ground, because God hated Yakov in the way that made Yakov realize that God was a big fan of schandefreude.

It was obvious it was God’s terrible and utterly spite filled design when it came to Yakov that he was now faced with a particular problem that was as familiar as it was agonizing.

Plucking the empty inhaler from his land lady’s son Yakov peered at the prescription with narrowed eyes. The panicked wheezy breaths were familiar, moreso than even his sniper rifle, and it was disconcerting in the way his instincts reacted. It was like a vengeful mother bear had been unleashed inside his mind and Yakov was going to help this child no matter the cost. Without further ado or even warning, because Yakov knew the child didn’t have a great deal of time, the frail ginger boy was picked up.

“We are going to get your prescription refilled.” Yakov told the boy, Owen, as he maneuvered themselves out of the apartment window and onto the fire escape. “You will be able to breathe again soon kotyonok.” Owen gave Yakov a muffled half wheeze half whimper in response and that was enough.

With all the training he had Yakov easily leapt over the side of the fire escape and began a controlled fall down to the alleyway below. Owen gave what amounted to a muffled shriek but Yakov ignored it in favor of landing as softly as he could before taking off at a quick jog towards the local pharmacy.

The Avengers would all probably collectively shit their pants if they were aware how close Yakov was to them. Well the sane ones at least. There weren’t many sane individuals who were a part of the Avengers actually. Which was probably why they were so effective against the psychotic megalomaniacs that liked to try and take over New York at least once a month, if not more often than that. Still it was a clever move on his part to stay close by, to hide in the seedy shadows of Brooklyn masquerading as a Bratva hitman. The Avengers would not look for him here, because of his obvious hatred of Captain America and the guarantee that he was a free agent and could literally go anywhere in the world.

It was less than a minute to bring Yakov to the pharmacy and there was a small sense of satisfaction he had enough control over himself to not kick the glass door inwards in his haste to get inside. Yakov carried Owen to the pharmacist’s counter, setting the boy down on the countertop gently before reaching for the inhaler. Groping inside his pocket he brought out the inhaler and deposited it in front of the wide eyed pharmacist.

“Fill that.” Yakov commanded, his eyes cold and his voice rough with authority. The pharmacist’s breath hitched, fear making her pupils contract as she looked ready to bolt. “ _Now_.” He snapped, channeling the vestiges of Vanya and James, rolling them together to give him an air of command. No one argued with him when he decided that he was in charge and right now Yakov owned this pharmacy, this small child, and the other sentient things inside it. The girl took off like a colt, running into the back and scrambling to find the prescription needed. While the pharmacist was preoccupied Yakov moved so he was in Owen’s line of vision.

“Kotyonok.” Yakov gentled his voice, it was still rough but there was almost a strange charm to it. “Mimic me.” It was a command again, but softer than what he had unleashed upon the pharmacist. Then with the care that no one, including himself, believed he had anymore he began to walk Owen through breathing exercises that were so ingrained in his soul that even when he’d been wiped he’d been able to do them. Breathe in through the nose, let his abdomen expand, then slow breath out through the mouth. A rhythmic cycle that Yakov kept up as he made certain to keep eye contact with Owen, to make sure Owen was with him, to make sure Owen understood what was happening. It wasn’t enough, really, the exercises because Owen’s lips were still blue and his small body shaking but Yakov knew these weren’t about stopping the attack but buying the child time.

When the pharmacist came back with the inhaler Yakov snatched it up, opened the cap, primed it, and shoved it in Owen’s mouth with all the expertise he should no longer have. He let Owen take the medicine, keeping the child in his line of sight as he moved to where the pharmacist was watching with disbelieving eyes. With a semi mocking look thrown towards the woman Yakov pulled out his wallet and handed her his debit card. The woman took it, ringing up the purchase, letting Yakov put his pen number down on the nearly broken keypad, handing him back his card, and skittering further back into the walled off area.

Yakov couldn’t entirely blame her for her reaction, though he found it a little melodramatic. Of course Yakov didn’t hide he was not on the right side of the law, nor was it a secret that every person who had even the smallest connection to the Underworld knew that Yakov was not someone to trifle with. The handful of deaths the other downtrodden and shady residents of this hellish corner of Brooklyn could attribute to Yakov was enough to give him a reputation that told everyone to ‘back the fuck off’. Which was what he wanted, but truly he was a highly trained operative violence for violence’s sake was never his style. Yakov used violence for two purposes, mission completion or defense.

The pharmacist had not done anything to warrant anyone to put a contract out on her that would bring her to Yakov’s notice nor had she done anything to threaten himself or his charge.

So he stared at her in a way that conveyed that if he had less dignity he would be rolling his eyes at her for her ridiculousness before turning to where Owen was still planted on the counter. The frail looking boy was staring at him with wide green eyes with far more color in his face than he had had before. The blue was slowly going away from his lips and Yakov knew that the child would be fine.

It still didn’t stop him from reaching over and picking the boy up again, mentally musing over the fact that if he had tried this with Steve at any age Yakov would have found himself an armful of angry asthmatic telling him that he was ‘fucking FINE Buck, my lungs are the faulty things not my legs’. Instead Owen clutched at Yakov and tried to bury himself in Yakov’s chest as the assassin walked them out of the pharmacy.

Silence reigned between them until they got back to their shared shitty apartment. Yakov had a single room he was renting out, because Owen and Owen’s mother were frankly a perfect cover to keep any prying eyes from trying to find him. Everyone would assume Yakov would find an apartment that would only allow him to live there and not have roommates. That Yakov would not seek out roommates, let alone sublet from someone with a child.

Yakov knew that no one in the world really knew him anymore and that he would be able to stay hidden for the rest of his unnaturally long life.

Setting Owen down at the rickety wooden table set up in the space between kitchen and living room Yakov went to the fridge. Reaching into it he pulled out eggs and milk and set them on the counter. He then began to scour the kitchen for the rest of the ingredients he was looking for. When he gathered them all together he found a bowl and began placing each ingredient inside with the same concentration and care a nuclear physicist would have when creating a nuclear bomb.

“How’d ya know to do that?”

Yakov didn’t startle or flinch when Owen spoke to him. In the two months he had lived here so far Owen hadn’t spoken to him in any manner other than ‘excuse me’ ‘can you please pass the salt’ and ‘thank you’. The ginger had a near terminal case of social anxiety and Yakov knew that he was perhaps one of the most intimidating people in the world. He had never taken it personally that Owen would refuse to make eye contact with him and avoided him like he thought Yakov might snap and kill him for the smallest thing.

“Had a friend who was like you.” Yakov began, carefully whisking the ingredients together. “He had very bad asthma and we were in a place where medicine was not readily available or affordable to us. So I had to learn how to help him because he was an idiot who never took care of himself. He would get pneumonia every winter, suffer from allergies in the spring and autumn, summer often brought on heat exhaustion. He was diabetic, had high blood pressure, and a heart condition. He had shit hearing for anything other than something that would allow him to start a fight. I’m fairly certain he was deaf to common sense entirely. He was color blind too…but he was a stubborn fucker and decided he wanted to be an artist too. Most days I wanted to put him on a leash so he would not get into trouble while I was not there to bail him out of it, others I simply wanted to punch him because he was an idiot and his idiocy was going to kill us both.”

Owen watched Yakov as he heated up a skillet and began to precisely pour batter into the pan, making pancakes. Yakov so far hadn’t contributed much in the way of cooking chores, usually preferring to clean and do laundry as well as fix little things around the apartment. Honestly Yakov couldn’t remember when he had actually done something more than pour himself a bowl of cereal and then add milk since he moved in here.

“Is he dead?” Owen asked softly, his feet kicking the air as he watched Yakov make pancakes.

“Yes. His idiocy killed us both in the end. He hated his body and his illnesses to the point where he could not see when someone loved him. He saw himself as fundamentally being unloveable because his body was not perfect. I wanted him healthy, I did not want him to suffer, but he decided healthy wasn’t good enough he had to be more. When in truth he never had to be more for me to love him, because he had always been enough for me, idiot that he was. He also could not imagine a way to help people other than to fight and so he signed up for war, joined the army, and died for it. And when he died he took my home and humanity with him. There is a ghost out there with his face, but it is not who I lived for.”

Owen stared at Yakov like he was trying to put the pieces together of a very complicated puzzle. The ginger had always seemed to be cleverer than most for being a fifth grader and Yakov quietly contemplated why no one had bumped the child up a grade or two. He was certainly smart enough for it, so far Yakov hadn’t seen anything less than a 100% on homework or tests though Yakov did admit he hadn’t seen all of Owen’s work just whatever fell out of a binder every now and then or what Owen had to shove at his mother to be signed. Despite Owen’s social anxiety Yakov knew that if he had to go out an pick children to be potential operatives Yakov likely would have picked Owen to be one.

Not because Owen was similar to Steve when Steve had been a child, looking underfed and sickly no matter what. Or that they had enough overlapping problems that Yakov could take care of Owen in his sleep because he had spent most of his years as Bucky looking after his beloved idiot. It was because Owen had a scar on his face that bisected his left eyebrow and trailed down to his jaw, it was because Owen was mostly blind in his left eye and partially deaf in that ear, it was because Owen was familiar with pain and shutting it out, it was because Owen was observant and could read people’s moods. Owen might be socially awkward, but he was emotionally sensitive to others. He had to be, Yakov knew that with brains like Owen’s combined with his frail body, glasses, and general shy demeanor that he was bully bait. Why not avoid someone who would get violent before they even decided to be violent.

Owen would make a better operative than Steve, but Yakov did not want to make Owen into anything. He was tired, exhausted really, of fighting. He would do nothing that would place Owen on the same path Bucky or Steve had travelled, he did not want this child to die like Bucky and Steve had. It would be…cruel to kill his soul. So as he flipped the cinnamon chocolate chip pancakes over he decided that he would protect this child because he had no protected anything else in a very long time. He would give this child a chance that Steve never seemed to want to have, to grow up at peace with what God had given him and realize he could be loved for simply being who he was without changing himself or his identity.

If Yakov could still love, he would love this little boy. Not in the romantic sense because while Yakov knew he was broken and a soulless monster he was not that much of a monster. It was like…perhaps what he had once felt for his sisters, though his memories and feelings for them were still shadowy vague things at best. It was not like what he had felt for Steve, no matter their similarities in health conditions. Yakov could only maybe liken it to what he had once felt for Natalia, when Yakov was Vanya. A mentor. Yes, he could be a mentor to this child.

“I’m sorry you lost him.” Owen finally said as Yakov began plating the stack of pancakes. He even poured into a little…gravy boat? Gravy boat, some Nutella maple syrup. Because children needed to eat wildly unhealthy things when they had gone through a scare like Owen had. Food fixed many woes, and with the powers of chocolate and Nutella combined nothing save a missing limb couldn’t be cured. At least if what Yakov found on the internet was to be believed, which mostly he took advice from the internet with a grain of salt but this seemed like a good method of helping. Especially since Yakov couldn’t do happy conversations to save his life without lying and somehow lying to Owen seemed like too great a sin to commit at the moment.

“I am too, but even though the wound he left got infected and scarred I have survived it. I will likely always survive the wounds given to me by life. God enjoys my misery too much to let me die.”

Placing a decently sized stack in front of Owen Yakov then put the rest of the pancakes on his plate. Owen blinked owlishly at Yakov, surprised by his statement or the fact the man who had never cooked before in the kitchen made him pancakes with syrup that smelled like warm homey heaven. Yakov poured syrup over his pancakes, leaving enough for Owen to smother his own with syrup should he so wish and began to dig into the stack with the single minded ferocity that only people who had known starvation could manage.

Then Owen cleared his throat almost delicately but obviously pointedly. Yakov stopped, fork halfway between his plate and his mouth, a fourth of his stack already decimated.

“You’re supposed to say grace.”

Yakov sighed and didn’t look heavenwards for help, because heaven never gave him help but he wasn’t about to admonish a child for wanting to keep routine.

“Yay God, Boo Devil, Amen.”

Yakov crossed himself half heartedly with a fork still in his hand before resuming his decimation of his food. Owen gasped, then giggled, looking at Yakov like he was one of the best things in the world.

“That’s not a proper grace.” Owen giggled but began eating his food anyway.

“There’s nothing theologically incorrect about it.” Yakov pointed out with dignity.

“Yea but grace is supposed to thank God for our food and show our gratefulness towards His gifts.”

“I thanked him by letting him know I thought he was still in the right over a several thousand year old pissing contest with Lucifer and I’m eating the food without complaint. What else am I supposed to do?” Yakov did not roll his eyes but it was a near thing.

“Use more words?”

“Fine.” Yakov sighed, reaching into long half remembered memories to find a ‘proper’ grace. “Good food, good meat, good lord let’s eat, amen.”

Owen fell into a longer fit of giggles this time and Yakov would not admit out loud that making the child smile made him feel warm. It was like little chips of ice were falling away inside him, giving him something other than burning cold to feel. Yakov did smirk ever so slightly into his pancakes though, even if he’d never admit it.

He might have lost his home over seventy years ago but it didn’t prevent him from contemplating building a new one now in the shape of a shitty apartment and a frail little boy who needed someone to look after him while his mother was away. Yakov might not be the best or the first choice of impromptu babysitter, but he would make it work because he had failed someone once before so badly that they felt the need to change everything about themselves. This time he would do better, he would help a child learn that they were beautiful no matter what others said and keep them from selling their soul in exchange for a shallow perfection. This time Yakov would not fail.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has an epiphany far too late.

Steve Rogers felt like his soul had been ripped out of him. Every beat of his heart ached and his blood felt toxic in his veins. He felt like the worst sort of scum on the face of the earth, worse than a bully or hydra or anything else he’d ever fought including Loki. He’d cry if he had tears left in his system but he didn’t, he was dry eyed and sober and wishing to God Almighty or perhaps Thor that he wasn’t sober.

Because life was too clear cut, too painful, to deal with without something to blunt the edges and soften the blows.

Steve Rogers had never understood why Bucky crawled so far into the bottle during the war. Intellectually at the time he knew Bucky wouldn’t sleep unless he was so smashed that Dum Dum decided to cut him off. Intellectually he had known Bucky had had a hard time, that he hadn’t talked about what Zola had done to him beyond the initial briefing. Intellectually he had known Bucky didn’t know what his future would hold so he would lie about what he wanted to do after the war, because Steve had known when Bucky was giving out medium level lies.

But then Steve had forgotten how Bucky had a poker face that had defeated nuns, priests, police officers, professional card sharks, COs, and if Steve could guess had also defeated Nazis, Russians, Hydra, and himself.

Bucky was the one who got the little things that Steve had always needed but could never afford. Bucky had been the one to charm his way into exclusive clubs, drag out intel from enemy soldiers, get them free things or at a good discount. Bucky had been the one carefully manipulating the world around them so it would make Steve’s life easier.

And right now Steve was looking back on his entire life and calling himself stupid. Because Bucky had loved him, he could see it now in the old photographs, he could read between the lines of the unpublished interviews of the men who had served with Bucky in the 107th. He could close his eyes right now and rattle off exactly how it had once felt to be held in Bucky’s arms when he was freezing and had pneumonia. He could even fool himself that Bucky was just about to run his fingers through Steve’s hair to give him comfort.

How the hell did Steve not see it? How the hell did Steve let himself go and break Bucky’s heart? Because that was the truth of it. Bucky’s heart had been broken and no one cared to even try to fix it, and while Steve had cared he had never actually tried to help in a way that would have been useful. No, he’d listened to Peggy and everyone else and had given Bucky space to patch up the holes inside his soul. Not even realizing you can’t patch up your soul all on your own, you had to have help, or just like with regular wounds it ran the risk of infection. Something had infected Bucky and Steve hadn’t seen it until 70 years later when it was too fucking late to fix it.

Bucky thought he was dead. Maybe he was. Bucky always had a good eye for shit like that. Who else had known Steve Rogers better than Bucky Barnes? No one, really. And…god damnit Steve had always looked at the serum as curing every ill he ever had, not just sickness, but every little piece he hadn’t liked, his thin body, his height, his inherent clumsiness, his lack of coordination. Everything had been changed and changed for the better, so he thought. He was so excited about it when it had happened, when he had been given the keys to a new life.

But apparently that new life came with a cost. The old one was gone, and Steve knew it could never be recreated perfectly but he had wanted the important bit. He had wanted Bucky to be there, to be by his side as his equal instead of his care taker, he had wanted to be able to go on double dates and not have to worry about his date ditching him for Bucky. But…Bucky had always been his equal, hadn’t he? Bucky hadn’t slowed down to pity Steve, he had shaped their lives to work with Steve. He hadn’t shielded Steve from the dark things, but he hadn’t necessarily flaunted them either.

But trying to be as good as Bucky had made him into someone else, someone Bucky didn’t recognize and no longer tried to fit the world to work with Steve. Bucky hadn’t….loved him in this body. Bucky hadn’t cared for the change. It wasn’t even that Bucky was shallow, because Steve had known Bucky hadn’t been no matter the front he put up. He had looked at dames quite openly and opened up his arms to them, giving himself out like he was some sort of community owned property rather than a person. Steve had guessed, sometimes, back in Brooklyn Bucky hadn’t just gone for girls either. Because there were nights he came home limping slightly, with kiss bruised lips and dark marks showing up on Bucky’s exposed skin. Steve had ignored it then, he had just assumed that it was simply Bucky being himself and doing what he wanted because he could.

And maybe some secret part of him had wanted Bucky to look at his new body and want it. That maybe now he’d be good looking enough for Bucky to make a move, but Bucky never did and Steve never let him think on his internal disappointment over it or the space that had slowly been opening up between them. Steve had had Peggy and damn he had loved her so much back then, he had thrown himself into his feelings for her and had listened to her words of wisdom on how to deal with Bucky.

Except why did he do that? Why had he listened to her when all his instincts told him to press in closer and glare at anyone who dared to come near Bucky because it was obvious Bucky didn’t feel comfortable in crowds anymore. Why had he let her convince him to let Bucky figure out how to deal with the torture on his own when before, back in Brooklyn he would have drug out every terrible detail, stomped on all the demons until they were dust, and sat by Bucky until the taller man would list to the side and curl into Steve’s shoulder seeking comfort he’d never ask for out loud.

Steve hadn’t offered any of the usual comfort he would have given, none of his stupid horribly awkward phrases that made Bucky snort but relax in incriments. Because Steve was stupid with words, but Bucky had had a Steve Rogers to English dictionary hardwired into his head and he had always understood.

Bucky hadn’t thought him dead because he had physically changed. Steve…Steve hadn’t been the same man when he walked out of that chamber. He had changed in his head and heart just enough to make him a new person and he hadn’t acknowledged it. Steve had pretended he was still that boy from Brooklyn and when Bucky had come back different as well…well Steve had ignored that, kept trying to play being Steve from before but forgetting all the important bits and kept trying to pretend that nothing was wrong with Bucky and…

When he had been a nobody Steve hadn’t ever pretended things were right when they obviously weren’t. He had dove in head first to countless fights, he had done as much as he could for everyone around him to have the best they could with the shitty pieces they had in life. Trying to make everything right for his friends had taken a back seat to trying to make everything right for the world, and Steve…Steve had lost the most vital piece of why he had even wanted to fight to begin with.

_You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?_

_Hell no. That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight. I’m following him_

That conversation echoed in Steve’s head and for so many years he had taken comfort in it. Because Bucky still saw him for who he was. Because Bucky wasn’t following the costume or the shield, but was instead following a man who was a soldier like him.

Now all Steve could find in that conversation was pain. Because Bucky hadn’t seen Steve at all in Captain America, he hadn’t seen Steve when the shield was gone and suit was put up and civvies put on. All he had seen was someone that had the face of a friend but had been all wrong and that Bucky, stupid idiotic Bucky, had thought Steve Rogers was dead. Bucky was following Captain America not because Captain America was Steve, but because Captain America could lead Bucky to where Bucky had thought Steve had gone. Bucky had followed Captain America to die.

And Steve now wished with all his goddamn soul that he could fix this. Fix the mess he had helped create, fix the things he had done to hurt Bucky so much. But he didn’t know how to start or where. Because the Steve Rogers of Brooklyn had always known how to fix his mistakes with Bucky, but the Steve Rogers of the Avengers was frozen up inside and too scared to move. Because Bucky didn’t trust him anymore, Bucky didn’t see Steve when he looked at him, and Steve did know how vicious Bucky could get when someone he didn’t trust started trying to weasel their way into his life.

Bucky had said to stay away. Steve Rogers of old wouldn’t have let that stop him at all, because Bucky said a lot of things like that when he needed Steve to come in close and help him. Except he wasn’t that Steve anymore, he had changed, the years had changed him, the serum had changed him. For once in his life Steve sat in front of the mirror and acknowledged he didn’t have as much fight in him as he had before, that he was giving up before he even started. There was no fixing this now, no fixing Bucky and his broken heart, no fixing Steve and his shattered soul, no fixing the mess he had made unknowingly.

And it was only when he had truly and utterly lost the love he had never acknowledged and had always taken for granted that he realized he had returned it as fiercely as it had been given.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yakov isn't normal, but that's okay because it's what makes Owen love him

There are some things Owen knew. He knew that his dad was a ‘very bad man’. He knew his mom was tired of trying to be a parent with a broken kid. He knew that he’s poor and that meant he didn’t get a lot of stuff he needed because the money didn’t exist. He knew that he’s defective as a person because his body was so frail. He knew how to take care of himself when his mom was working at her jobs or just didn’t want to come home and reminded of all the bad things Owen and their tiny apartment represented.

Owen knew that Yakov was much kinder than he wanted to be. Owen knew that if he asked Yakov would be there for anything, and most of the time Owen didn’t need to ask because Yakov seemed to know when Owen was going to need him. Owen knew that Yakov was strong, brave, and clever. Owen knew that Yakov could do anything at all if he put his mind to it because he was so stubborn and smart. Owen knew that Yakov loved him.

Yakov hadn’t said it verbally. It didn’t seem to be a thing for Yakov, to articulate his feelings. That didn’t mean Owen couldn’t see it. Owen saw it in the warmth in Yakov’s eyes and the gentleness of his manner whenever it regarded Owen. Owen felt it when Yakov let Owen come close, his body never tensing up like it does when his mom or honestly anyone else got remotely close to being in Yakov’s personal space. Owen knew it when he could climb into Yakov’s lap to do homework or curl up next to him to watch movies, using the man as something between impromptu personal furniture and a large sentient teddy bear. Owen heard it when Yakov would sing to him quietly when Owen caught pneumonia _again_ right before Halloween.

Yakov also said it when he started bringing out guns from his tiny room and began to show Owen how they worked. That’s one of Owen’s favorite things now, afterschool lessons on…well things Yakov thinks Owen needed to know. Yakov started the lessons with small firearms that were most frequently used for concealed weaponry, then moving to the bigger guns, all the way up to assault and sniper rifles before Yakov moved to the more complicated weaponry and careful tutelage in personal self-defense.

It wasn’t normal. Owen knew that. Because Owen’s smart enough to know that beam based weaponry wasn’t something a regular civilian should know about and be able to procure or how to pass through basic security systems undetected. Yakov had never ever been normal though, not from the first day he walked into the apartment with a large black duffle bag filled with most of the weapons Yakov ended up teaching Owen about within the first two weeks of lessons and a blank half dead look in his eyes. Yakov was terrifying but unobtrusive during the first few weeks and as time passed and Yakov warmed up Yakov still never became normal.

But he cared.

“What do you do?” Owen couldn’t help but be curious as he watched Yakov chopping vegetables that were going to be put in to tonight’s dinner.

“Bad things.” Came Yakov’s immediate reply, a bad attempt to not answer fully.

“What did you do before that?” Because Yakov might not answer things fully, but he always gave Owen the truth or the closest thing to it. Which was nice, because Owen’s learned that Yakov didn’t brush him off because he didn’t think Owen couldn’t handle it. Yakov never gave full answers because what Owen didn’t know couldn’t hurt Owen, which seems strange but it was Yakov and he was _always_ strange.

“More bad things.”

“And before that?”

“Even _more_ bad things.” Came Yakov’s dry and borderline sarcastic tone. It was one of the tones Owen liked the best because it always made Yakov seem less of a terrifying robot that looked like a human and more like a human in general. Not that if Yakov was a robot it’d be bad, he was at least a cyborg with his metal arm (which was the coolest thing ever), but he didn’t want people to treat Yakov less than a human being no matter what and being a human being made that wish much easier to fulfill.

“Annnnnnnd before that?” Because the hunt for information had become a game, one that brought a smile to Owen’s lips because games with Yakov were always fun.

There was a put upon sigh and Owen watched as Yakov turned to look at him with the particular face that was somewhere between coldly majestic and put upon with little hints of sassiness. No one else could pull that face, it was all Yakov. He could look at a person and let them know that he would be rolling his eyes at their silliness or stupidity if it wasn’t so far beneath him to do so. It was an expression that was so much more affectionate when it was aimed at Owen than it was at anyone else and it made Owen feel warm inside. Because he was special. He could be silly and odd and strange with Yakov and Yakov would just accept it, roll with it, and never ask Owen to not be Owen.

“I was in the army.” Came the reluctant reply, Yakov’s accent slipping from the vaguely neutral American with the occasional hints of Russian to something far more familiar. Brooklyn, Yakov’s accent would be so comfortingly Brooklyn (though old Brooklyn, like Mr. Delany and Ms. Takeuchi) and it gave Owen far more questions than he knew he’d ever get answers for.

“What? _Really_? I mean I knew your friend was in the army but you didn’t mention you had been too. Is that why you have so many guns? You have a lot of guns. Not that it is a bad thing but it’s a lot and I don’t think people usually have access to so many. Do you still work for the Army?” Owen was nearly vibrating with excitement now, because he had been given even more information about Yakov. It was like having this really big puzzle in his head that he had all the edge pieces for but it wasn’t anywhere near filled. Owen wanted to know more about Yakov, he wanted to know everything about Yakov, because Yakov was fascinating and well honestly he was Yakov. Why wouldn’t anyone want to know everything they could about him?

There was something warm and bittersweet in Yakov’s face as he shook his head fondly at Owen. Yakov also had on the face that meant Owen was going to get the truth, an edited and safer version of it, but the truth nonetheless.

“Yea I was a sniper in the 107th.” Yakov mulled over his words as he turned his back to Owen. Owen didn’t mind that because he knew it meant that Yakov was trying to find a way to answer but was having to think about it. “Lots of people think I joined up voluntarily, yanno to fight the good fight. Truth was that I was drafted and never had the heart to tell anyone else about it ‘cause they wanted to think I was good or brave or something when honestly I didn’t want to go to fight because I knew if I left I wouldn’t be coming back the same person. My old man was a soldier and came back broken up and just a shell. I never knew him before that, I was born after. Joining up loses its shine when you grow up with an alcoholic deadbeat who only got that way ‘cause War breaks people up and no one likes putting soldiers back together when they come home, whether it’s physically or mentally. It’s unfair and cruel for the military to…make you a weapon, make you see bad things, makes you function differently and then throws you back home without a way to help make ya human again. I didn’t want that to happen to me. I had people depending on _me_ to provide for ‘em and…well let’s just say I was proven right.”

If Owen’s teachers could hear Yakov speak right now he was pretty sure some of them would be turning different colors. They’d say what Yakov was talking about wasn’t appropriate for a child to know or that Yakov was giving too much information. Except they’d be wrong. Because Owen knew about dads who drank and never helped to do anything except maybe give a black eye or a broken wrist and then use up what little money there was drinking. It was nice to know he hadn’t been the only one to have a dad like that, that having a dad like that meant having to hide the fact that he had a dad like that because a lot of the time people just pitied and never made the dad stop.

Owen was pretty sure that if his dad showed up Yakov would stop him and make him go away. That was why his mom had let Yakov rent out the room to begin with, because Yakov made everyone think several times before trying to mess with him. Even the big fish in the neighborhood stayed clear of trying to do anything to catch Yakov’s attention. Yakov was like the boogeyman, except much nicer and willing to cuddle when Owen wanted it.

“But I was drafted. I ended up getting the rank of Sergeant officially before I ended up in a special forces unit. They never officially promoted me ‘cause everyone liked calling me ‘Sarge’, but in function I was akin to a First Lieutenant. The Army definitely didn’t want to call me that because I’d never gotten officer training to be legitimately commissioned but they let me have power and authority that Sergeants don’t get and most soldiers usually acted like I was a First Lieutenant even though officially I was just a Sergeant. Besides never promoting me meant that they didn’t have to pay me more money for the shit I did.”

“You don’t work for them anymore?” Owen asked, watching as Yakov began to add more and more ingredients into the soup. It was borscht, though not exactly the traditional kind as Yakov had explained when they had gone shopping for ingredients. This kind was actually a Chinese version though they were going to do it also vaguely American too by using sour cream. Yakov knew how to make a lot of different foods from a lot of different places, or more accurately he knew the origins of what he wanted to make and selected recipes based on the knowledge.

“No. I worked for two organizations after I had an…unfortunate accident during a mission that wouldn’t allow me to continue in the Army. Now I work for no one but myself. Being a freelance agent has its perks, I can now choose when I wish to be away which is good for you because it allows me to be here when you need me.”

A bubble of warmth grew in Owen’s chest. Neither of his parents had ever tried to work their schedule to be able to be with him and it not sound like a horrible chore. Yakov had already had a schedule that allowed him to pick and choose when he wanted to be in the city or not and it was easy, natural, of him to choose to stay around when Owen needed him.

Maybe he was wrong to not care that Yakov did bad things for a living. Well that was wrong. He only cared because if Yakov got caught he’d go away, but it was silly and fanciful of Owen but he believed that Yakov wouldn’t get caught. Not by any old policeman or detective. It would have to be someone much much better than that to get close to his friend and he had a feeling that the people who could track down Yakov probably didn’t want to because he was Yakov.

“Can you be my Uncle?”

The spoon in Yakov’s hand nearly dropped into the soup pot as the dark haired man startled. Owen almost wanted to giggle because it was the first time he had ever seen Yakov startle at anything, nothing seemed to phase him. Even giant evil robots attempting destroying cities on the news only got a coolly raised eyebrow and a look of disdain like he had seen it before and was bored with the evil villains trying to the same thing again (which Owen had to admit that the giant evil robot thing was starting to get a little less surprising but not quite on the unflappable level Yakov normally existed at). But his request managed to do it.

“You want me to what?”

Yakov turned around to look at Owen, surprise and bafflement written clearly on his face. There was no disgust though and nothing that seemed to indicate that Yakov didn’t like the idea, Yakov just seemed surprised Owen wanted it.

“Be my Uncle. Because if you’re my Uncle then you won’t have to use the scary face on the teachers anymore when you come to PTA meetings or try to pick me up at school early ‘cause I’m sick. You’re also family now, but you’re too old to be my brother so you have to be my uncle instead.”

There was a sly secretive amusement in Yakov’s eyes and he smiled like a cat as Owen spoke. “Sure ya don’t want me to be your granddad?”

Owen frowned, his eyebrows furrowing because Yakov was old but he wasn’t that old. He couldn’t be. He didn’t have a single grey hair and he didn’t dye it to be that way like some of his teachers. He also didn’t have a bald spot like Mr. Petrovsky, the gym teacher. Yakov was old but not that old, not too old. He was the nice sort of old that was an adult but not too adult but not too not adult. It was the nice medium adult area that many adults never got to but Yakov was squarely in it.

“No you’re my Uncle. Mom might have to adopt you or something to make it official but I want you to be my Uncle, my real Uncle even though you aren’t related to me. Blood doesn’t always mean family but…you’re my family and I want everyone to know it.”

Something crossed Yakov’s face. It was so open and full of emotions that Owen didn’t know had any sort of name but it was raw and looked like it was the sort of happy that hurt in a good way. Yakov put the spoon down, turning the soup’s heat to low before he crossed the tiny kitchen to where Owen was sitting at the table. Reaching for him Yakov wrapped his hands around Owen’s waist and lifted him up like he weighed nothing and pulled him to Yakov’s chest. The hug was tight, but not in a bad way, it didn’t hurt, it was like Yakov was trying to hold him as close as possible and use his own body as a shield to keep everything bad in the world from ever coming close enough to touch Owen.

“I love you.” Yakov whispered into Owen’s hair as Owen made himself comfortable, wrapping his arms around Yakov’s neck and his legs around Yakov’s waist. “My kotyonok I’ll be with you til the end of the line.” It sounded like an oath, one that Yakov had made before and that had a deep sort of meaning. It sounded like it was meant to sink down into Owen’s bones and stay there, that no matter what happened so long as Owen lived he’d have Yakov by his side. He knew it now, though he had known it already before, it seemed like it made everything official.

They ate dinner later, after Yakov could finally let go of Owen and not get a slightly panicked look on his face like he expected as soon as he let go Owen would disappear into nothingness. After Owen went to bed he was woken up by the quiet murmuring between his mom and Yakov. The next day when he came home from school that he saw the first real present that Yakov had ever gotten him. Sitting on his bed was a bear, it was dark brown and wore a domino mask that was paired with a blue uniform. A Bucky Bear, except it wasn’t a Bucky Bear that Owen had seen before. It looked old, kinda like the ones that were antiques except it didn’t have the red nose and had a black one instead. A little note was penned to the uniform in Yakov’s handwriting.

_This was mine when I was younger my unit had it made specially for me because I despised most of the Bucky Bears being made at the time because they were atrocious abominations. It gave me comfort during many nights while I was on Tour. I hope he will give you the same comfort whenever I am not here._

_Your mother has approved of the idea of me becoming a legal guardian of sorts for you. I would tell you this in person but there was an urgent matter I had to take care of and I won’t be back for three days. I made sure there was enough food for you in the fridge and you know the number to call if you need me._

_Your Uncle_

Owen read the note and reread it again to make sure. He wasn’t happy that Yakov had had to leave for a few days, but if it was urgent then it had indeed been urgent. Despite his sadness he was still happy. Happy that his mom was okay with Yakov being allowed to officially help care for him, happy that Yakov thought about him enough to make sure there was food for him to eat, but what made him happiest was the bear. Yakov was giving Owen a bear that Yakov had been given and used, that it had comforted Yakov during bad times and now it would be here to comfort Owen during bad times. It had now risen to the top of Owen’s most favorite things in the world and as he hugged it close he could feel Yakov’s love for him, unconventional and awkward as it was sometimes it was the strongest and most unconditional love Owen have ever been given. Yakov was family, he had family now that loved him. It was the best feeling in the world and nothing could ever take it away because Yakov was with Owen til the end of the line.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yakov found the perfect Service Animal for Owen, too bad no one besides Owen agrees.

The woman sitting across from Yakov was a tough one. She was in her mid to late forties. Her kinky black hair was starting to get striped with gray and was left in natural curls. Her mouth was an unamused thin line and she had a scar across the bridge of her darkly freckled face. Mrs. Jones had an air about her that made her seem like she ate the souls of the unworthy for breakfast, reveled in bathing in the tears of adults, and could snap someone’s soul into itty bitty unrecognizable pieces with her manicured fingernails. Yakov recalled imagines of Amazons and fanficully wondered if she had any blood ties to the mythical race. She stood at least six two and moved with the powerfully easy movements of a well-trained soldier. Not even her tastefully understated clothing could soften her aura, she didn’t have the polite almost put upon air that some of the dames who’d been soldiers had that they could still maintain civility in the middle of war. Nah Mrs. Jones looked like she’d probably head the charge herself and make enemy combatants cry before she put them down while still remaining regal. Because she had that air, the one that warrior queens of old used to have when Yakov had imagined them when he had been both a child and still called Bucky. She was a queen and not the sort that was put away in throne rooms with elegant paintings and teeny tiny sandwiches surrounded by courtiers dressed in fine clothing. She was the sort to be sitting on an ancient throne, carved from a tree with furs draped around it, her throne room would have had stone floors and slightly smoky rooms and her courtiers would not be foppish nobles but warriors.

Mrs. Jones didn’t have the washed out exhausted air that most social workers had, and if Yakov hadn’t been introduced to her with the knowledge she worked for CPS then he would have pegged her as either ex special forces or a spook or maybe an alien who decided to stick around on earth to help people.

She could have been any of those, honestly, before taking up the mantle of children’s rights.

Mrs. Jones was giving him a look that had undoubtedly at least made multiple adults nervous, and had more likely stripped many of them to their barest bones and made the more delicate ones cry.

Yakov simply mirrored the look, giving the same amount of fucks as absolute zero that she was sitting at the kitchen table and judging him and his life choices at the moment. There was nothing wrong with his most recent life choices. Owen was happily perched in his lap cooing over the service animal that Yakov had obtained and trained for him because Yakov had done research and the research had all pointed to the fact that chronically ill people often did better both physically and mentally when they had a pet.

It wasn’t Yakov’s fault that he had then decided that he would obtain a service animal for Owen that met all of Yakov’s very strict requirements. It also wasn’t Yakov’s fault that the only animal that Yakov had found worthy was one he encountered on a mission to clean out a Hydra research facility. It also truly wasn’t against the law to give a child what appeared to be a baby dragon if said baby dragon had gone through the rigorous training that service animals normally went through and then some because the dragon was extremely clever and therefore could learn a great deal more than the average service animal.

It also absolutely wasn’t Yakov’s fault that Owen’s teachers had taken umbrage over the fact that Owen had brought his service animal to school. It was legal, Yakov had checked, for service animals to be allowed in school environments. From what Yakov had gathered from the hysterical phone call from the school’s administration the teachers had been scared simply by Chompy’s presence as opposed to Chompy actually doing anything more threatening than staring at the teachers before slowly blinking one eye and then the other then sticking his tongue out to touch his muzzle before going back to the unblinking reptilian stare of carefully calculated murder.

This was New York City for fuck’s sake. Stranger shit had happened, stranger shit kept happening, than a kid having a mildly exotic and dangerous pet for a service animal. Owen was not in any danger regarding Chompy, in fact the ten pound reptilian creature was currently a puddle of happiness as Owen scratched at all the places Chompy seemed to like. It was actually fascinating to see the oddly contorted and splayed display but it was becoming a far more frequent sight than not when it came to Chompy and Owen.

“That is a dragon.” Mrs. Jones stated, unnecessarily in Yakov’s opinion. Of course Chompy was a dragon or a species that resembled a dragon from European mythology, well with more feathers and painfully garish coloration of magenta and violet.

“Yes, he is.” Came Yakov’s equally unnecessary reply. If they were going to play the game of ‘state the obvious’ Yakov was going to win.

“How did you procure a dragon for a ten year old child?” At least the game of state the obvious had been ended, though it was a shame because Yakov had already put at least ten things down in his head he could have used.

Yakov’s blue eyes were icy. He didn’t particularly care for Mrs. Jones but it didn’t mean that he was going to become truly hostile. In all honesty he was mostly frustrated with the fact that CPS decided to show up now, at this house, instead of the multitude of others where children were in fact in dangerous situations. It had been three weeks since Owen’s mother had decided to leave, to give up on New York City, to give up on trying to be a parent, and to find a new life for herself. She had given full custody to Yakov because she had known Yakov would care for Owen in all the ways she couldn’t. That with Yakov in charge maybe Owen wouldn’t die before he reached puberty or become fucked up beyond repair.

Owen had taken it…well enough. He didn’t seem to be blaming himself for his mother’s departure and he didn’t seem to be emotionally unstable. The thin ginger boy had simply latched onto Yakov harder, focusing more on the person who loved him in that moment than the people who didn’t seem to have loved him at all from the moment he was born.

“I work as a freelance security contractor and investigator. One of my last assignments had me looking at a research facility and it was there that I found Chompy. When the facility was secure the animals they had there were tested for varying things, temperament, abilities, hostility. Chompy was the only one that did not require being put down and he became attached to me. So I was allowed to bring him back, I had already been researching the idea of getting Owen a service animal or at the very least a therapy one. I decided to attempt to train Chompy for the functions Owen would require, he can sniff out food that Owen is allergic to and keep him from eating them, he can scent some of the airborne chemical triggers of Owen’s asthma, he knows where Owen’s inhaler is at all times as well as Owen’s epipen, he can open doors or close them, he knows how to fetch drinks or food for Owen, if I give Chompy a schedule of when Owen requires his pills Chompy can remind Owen at those times to take his medication, Chompy also more environmentally aware than Owen and can keep Owen from running into things on his blindside, and he also knows how to dial 911 on most phones.”

“You must admit that he is unconventional and potentially dangerous.” Mrs. Jones pointed out from over the top of her coffee.

“We live in New York City, m’am. Considering the things that happen here, finding and training a dragon as a service animal is not exactly out of the norm anymore. Owen is in less danger now having a companion who can be with him at all times than the sporadic supervision adults can provide and unlike most adults Owen encounters during the day, Chompy will be able to figure out what Owen needs medically and respond whether it is retrieving his inhaler, epipen, or dialing 911 and making horrific noises into the phone until someone is sent to investigate the problem.”

Mrs. Jones tilted her head in acknowledgement to Yakov’s statement. Her eyes lingered on Owen, who was looking like he was trying to not listen to the conversation but he really was listening even as he preened the soft slightly dusty feathers along Chompy’s underside. Yakov wondered what she saw when she looked at Owen, from the way Owen had greeted her it seemed like Mrs. Jones had been his caseworker before. Owen was happy now, gaining a little more weight, a new hearing aid in his left ear to at least help with some of the deafness on that side. The apartment was clean, not too clean though, not the clean that most parents tried to do when CPS had been called. The apartment was clean but cluttered, several piles of Owen’s books littered around the small living room area, there was an even smaller pile that belonged to Yakov on the coffee table. There was a half load of dirty laundry in a bin in front of the washer, waiting for it to be full before being run. Plates and pots were drying on a rack to the right of the sink in the kitchen. Everything in the apartment was third hand and it was small and obviously not the best location, but it was warm and clean and lived in.

“I’ve looked in to your finances because last time I was here you didn’t exist.” Mrs. Jones cut to a new line of questioning with the same sort of no nonsense that reminded Yakov of the military. “You can afford to rent a nicer place.” Her voice was pointed and Yakov raised a cool eyebrow in her direction.

“I am in the process of looking for a new apartment in a better part of the city. Finding a good apartment takes time for a single adult, never mind adding a child and a service animal. I have a list of areas that seem like they might work, but I am going to focus more on finding a new place for us after next semester ends. That way Owen will not have to transfer school in the middle of the year and can make the transition more easily. Material luxury is nice, getting a better apartment will be nice, but my main priority it keeping Owen safe, happy, and taken care of properly both mentally and physically. Nothing in this apartment or school district is currently detrimental for either Owen’s health or soul so we have the time to make changes slowly.”

Mrs. Jones mulled over his words, her dark brown eyes focused intently on trying to see if Yakov was giving any physical tells that he might be lying. Yakov wasn’t going to tell her that from the age of twelve he’d been the best liar in Brooklyn when he put his mind to it and unless she was going to go spelunking in his brain she wasn’t going to be able to tell if he was lying at all. Which for the most part he wasn’t. Owen’s health was Yakov’s main priority, then his happiness, and after that it was finding nice things to have.

Finding an apartment that would meet Yakov’s requirements was also going to be a hellish endeavor. The major problem wasn’t the school district he was going to try and get Owen in, nor even the general location. It was the apartments themselves. For all the general shittiness and lack of space this apartment had it was easily defensible. It would be extremely hard for a sniper to get a good vantage point in which to take a kill shot into the apartment. The neighbors were downright hostile towards strangers and despite the fact it was New York City, if new people wandered into the neighborhood everyone generally knew about it within half an hour or so because gossip was the name of the game here. Adding in the fact that Yakov would feel better living on a street with little to no surveillance and it was hard. Truly hard to find a good option for both Owen and Yakov to go live in.

“You’ve thought about this a lot haven’t you?”

Yakov’s eyes narrowed and the temperature of the room dropped a handful of degrees. “Of course I have. Owen is my charge and he will have a good life and a good childhood and he will be given a chance at having a future. I am not a conventional guardian but I am a good one. I know the most important thing to give a child and I will give it to him no matter what.”

“Oh?” Mrs. Jones raised a dubious eyebrow. “What might that be?”

Yakov glared harder at her, going silent for almost an entire minute wondering how stupid this woman was that she couldn’t see what the most important thing for a child, for any family, was. Gritting his teeth waited a few seconds more before managing to pry the words from his mouth.

“Love. Kids need love. Life can go fubar in a second and if you don’t got love to keep you floating you’re gonna drown. Love can make even the worst moments in life tolerable. Love makes homes and safety and warm fuzzy stuff that makes most people vomit rainbows. So yea the apartment isn’t the best, but he’s got the important stuff: love, food, medicine, and shelter.”

Mrs. Jones’ hostility seemed to ease with his words. Nodding to Yakov curtly it was the sign that she had accepted him. If Yakov had been worried that she would have tried to take Owen away from him it might have eased any tension in his heart. But he hadn’t been, because Owen was getting a good life now, getting more of the things he needed and less of the things that hurt him.

“I’ll do a follow up visitation in a month but as of right now I don’t see anything that would merit me removing Owen from your custody.”

With those words Owen relaxed in Yakov’s arms a little bit. Cursing himself internally Yakov moved his flesh and blood hand to gently pat Owen’s knee. Yakov hadn’t been afraid of having Owen taken from him because he had seen no reason that Mrs. Jones could find that would warrant Owen’s removal from his care but Owen had been. Owen hadn’t known whether he was going to be able to stay with Yakov or if he’d been taken somewhere else, someplace that wasn’t safe or secure, someplace that wouldn’t give him the love that Yakov did. Pushing back into Yakov’s chest Owen silently requested a hug, to which Yakov immediately gave.

Mrs. Jones seemed to even be smiling slightly at the display as she got up from her seat. Yakov didn’t move to follow her and Owen didn’t seem particularly inclined to leave his personal chair. Mrs. Jones would be able to find her own way out.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony Stark decides to start a club and Steve's not allowed to be president.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some mention of Howard Stark abusing Tony physically and it alludes to Howard maybe even doing so sexually. You have been warned.

Tony Stark had seen a great many things in his life that were surprising and generally life altering. In fact at this point he rarely began to notice when things became life altering or weird because it had become so commonplace that he was more bound to notice when life went generally according to plan.

Except right now. Right now he was pretty sure that this level of weird was not normal even for an Avenger.

Tony Stark in his glorious and extremely tasteful Iron Man suit just watched as a 70 lb barely over four feet boy just pull the ‘thighs of death’ on an mentally unsound trigger happy bomb wearing mad scientist slash hobo holding up his school and consequently the boy specifically hostage. The fact that the child had pulled off a move that Tony only associated with Natasha was only just the icing on the surprise cake he had been served today. The bulk of it was when ‘Chompy’ a…well Tony didn’t want to call it a baby dragon but it really looked like a feathery baby dragon wearing a sparkly bow crawled out of the kid’s shirt, spat a fireball in the man’s face which allowed the kid to get enough room to disarm the man like a pro and do the thighs of death to subdue him.

It only got weirder when the ginger headed glasses wearing waif then ran to where the gun had been, picking it up with two fingers like it was extremely dirty or could bite him before scanning the room, locking onto Tony and walking over to him. The kid held out the gun to him, his face unhealthily pale as his small hands trembled. “Uncle Yakov says I can’t touch firearms until I’m fourteen at least because most guns recoil will hurt me right now because I am not sturdy enough and there’s rules in the school that says firearms are prohibited and it really shouldn’t be here but I don’t think any of my teachers have a firearms license and the police are outside and you’re here and if you can fire off bits of energy when you want then you probably have a firearms license and please take it so Uncle Yakov doesn’t think I’m trying to break the rules.” The child rambled as he held out the gun. Tony reached out, took it from the kid and mentally wondered if he did have a license to carry weapons or if he just ignored that law like so many others.

When the gun was safely out of the kid’s hands the kid doubled over and began wheezing like someone was trying to choke all the air from him. The wheezing sent Tony’s heart into an erratic and highly frantic pace but the baby dragon seemed to know what was happening. It skittered off the kid’s shoulder, climbed down his leg, ran to a backpack, clawed it open, and fetched out an inhaler. It ran back, holding the inhaler in its mouth as it climbed its owner and held it for the child to use.

Tony vaguely wondered if he had somehow ingested a hallucinogenic and was simply tripping balls or if this was actually happening. It was New York though so…

“You okay kid?” Tony asked feeling like cotton was filling his mouth. The kid’s panicked wheezes subsided a little but Tony could see bruises starting to bloom on the kid’s skin and there were weird claw marks on his neck. “No wait, never mind, you just had an asthma attack and were held hostage by a nutjob wearing a bomb. You’re not okay, you need a doctor or like ten. You are definitely going to the ER to get checked out.”

The kid looked at Tony resigned to his fate as decreed by an adult with authority and with a sigh that told Tony just how much the kid likely went to the ER he turned to where his backpack had fallen. Most of the kid’s classmates were still shell shocked, though it was hard to tell if it was because Iron Man was here, they had been held hostage by a man whose hygiene was more than questionable, or what looked like the smallest member of their class just took said man out was a mystery. The kid inspected the damage his not baby dragon had done to his backpack, fished out a safety pin, pinned the tear together and walked back over to where Tony was.

“You need to put that man in a safe place because Uncle Yakov will kill him because he hurt me and I don’t want Uncle Yakov to get in trouble for killing someone.” The child informed Tony as he took the baby dragon from his shoulder and cuddled him to his chest. It was in those spare moments that Tony realized that what he had imagined as more eccentric decoration for the unnatural pet wasn’t eccentric decoration. It was a vest (admittedly most of his attention had been on the wings and the fire breathing and the sparkly pink bow lovingly perched on the feathered head) blue in color, which means Tony should have noticed it sooner because the baby dragon was a horrible mix of a magenta base with violet stripes and the bright blue stuck out like an even sorer thumb that the unnatural beast already did. But scrawled on the side in white lettering was ‘Service Animal’ and in smaller letters ‘Ask Before You Pet’.

“He’ll go to regular lock up.” Tony replied but the kid balked, his breathing still shallow and a bit wheezy and shook his head emphatically.

“No, Uncle Yakov can get in there. You need a place with no windows, especially outside, and very very small vents.”

Tony was about to ask how he thought Uncle Yakov was going to get to the man and was it really such a terrible idea to let the man kill someone who had been willing to blow up a school full of children when a teacher hurriedly came up to them. The woman was grey haired with a spine of steel and if she wasn’t in civilian clothing Tony would have thought she was an angry nun because she had that air about her. She came over to look at Owen and her lips were in a thin grim line when she glanced up at Tony.

“Owen’s Uncle Yakov is a former sniper in the US Special Forces. I am not saying I condone his likely method of dispatching someone who threatened his charge, but I can generally vouch that no one who has met Yakov would doubt that he’d be able to reach the man and murder him. If Owen is telling you to put him in a secure place then you should, if you wish the man to go through something resembling due process.”

If Brooklyn had been anything like this in the ‘good old days’ no wonder two of the worlds most fucked up and terrifying super soldiers came out of here. Granted he was pretty sure no one had been around to teach Steve the thighs of death but if shit had been this dangerous and that the people felt that they had to handle shit all on their own because no one was going to back them up….well it explained some things. Though Tony was also likely just spinning tires in his head and not getting anywhere.

“Noted. I’ll tell the boys in blue downstairs.” Looking down at the kid who had now been dubbed ‘Owen’ Tony held his hand out. “Ready to go get checked out?” With another resigned look Owen nodded his head. “C’mon, climb up, the suit is faster than a car.” Tony held out his arms and was relieved that the kid trusted him enough to climb up. It was like holding a baby bird, which Tony shouldn’t have felt in the suit but he did, the kid felt delicate and fragile with hollow bones and paper thin skin. Tony prayed he didn’t break the kid on the way because he sure as hell didn’t want to meet the wrath of this ‘Uncle Yakov’.

He shot the police a cursory ‘the perp is down and put him in the special cell’ before taking off. There wasn’t conversation between him and the kid, how was he supposed to talk to a kid who had literally taken down a bomb wearing hobo who had tried to take over his school. The silence lasted all the way to the er, when Tony touched down and carried Owen inside. Placing Owen down at the front desk he waited to be acknowledged by the check in nurse. It was painfully obvious the kid had had to do this shit before when Tony was given a clipboard to fill out only to have it taken by Owen. In a messy scrawl Owen checked boxes and listed ailments, he put in the emergency contact number, he filled out everything except the signature on the bottom and then handed it back to Tony.

“Sign that please because Uncle Yakov isn’t here to do it and you’re an adult.”

With a brief nod Tony put his own flourished signature down and handed the paperwork back. They hadn’t even gotten five steps towards the seating area before ‘Owen Revens’ was called back. With a confident hand Owen grasped Tony’s and gently tugged him in the direction of the intake area.

They were settled in the private room for not even five minutes before what was essentially the surprise stripper in the surprise cake showed up. Because really the Winter Soldier striding in to a hospital room with a thunderous frown on his face and making a beeline for a kid on the bed and completely disregarding Tony’s presence was literally a surprise stripper in the surprise cake for the day. Tony had to keep focusing on the stripper part of the analogy just so he wouldn’t have to deal with his life flashing before his eyes.

But Tony was an Avenger and that meant doing good deeds and right now the good deed seemed to be getting between Bucky Barnes and the ginger asthmatic on the bed. Well that was the plan until a cheerful “Uncle Yakov!” came from the bed.

Turning so quickly Tony was pretty sure he had whiplash he stared in confused awe as Bucky Barnes, the Winter fucking Soldier, the dude who made Natasha check her closet and under her bed at night, went right up to the bed and pulled Owen into a hug. Not like a brief awkward hug that Steve occasionally tended to give, but it was the sort of hug that made something bitter crawl up Tony’s throat because he’d never had anyone hug him like that as a child.

“Your school called me.” Bucky said, petting the fluffy ginger hair of the teeny boy in his arms. “Then the ER. Are you okay?” Pulling back slightly Bucky let his eyes roam over the kid, assessing for damage that could have been given. Tony was so fucking thankful he was not the bomb wearing maniac who gave Owen those bruises along his throat or the raised welts that spanned the bruises.

Owen nodded. “Mmhmm Chompy hid in my shirt when we were taken and the guy didn’t even do a weapons check on anyone. He took me because I was the smallest and when he did I got to see the bomb he made. It wasn’t wired right and he had used up all his rounds in his gun, so I gave Chompy the fire command to distract him and disarmed him and took him down just like you taught me to when I got in dangerous situations. Then I got scared and couldn’t breathe and Chompy got my inhaler and I was fine but then Iron Man wanted to take me into the ER because today hadn’t been a good day and he’s Iron Man so I gotta listen to him. I also gave him the gun because he has a license I think and I don’t think anyone else at the school knew about gun safety and you told me I can’t really touch them without supervision and I wasn’t trying to break the rules I just didn’t want anyone to get hurt.” After the torrent of words Owen stopped and thought for a moment. “Can I get a banana smoothie on our way home?”

It was a credit to Barnes that the assassain seemed to be able to keep up with the flow of words. In fact he seemed to be able to keep pace with the rapid fire word vomit the kid threw at him. Though when the banana smoothie was mentioned Barnes grimaced.

“Don’t call them bananas, they’re lies, lies in the shape of bananas.”

Owen shot Barnes a look that told Tony that this was an ongoing argument between the Soviet Super Assassin and the child.

“No, they’re bananas.”

Barnes gave Owen a look that said that Barnes would have been rolling his eyes if he wasn’t too diginifed, which honestly Tony was wondering why he was trying to keep up an appearance of dignity when he was arguing about bananas. You know what Barnes could do whatever he wanted right now because Tony was focusing, for once in his life, on not being the center of attention.

“No they’re lies. I will get you a smoothie made of lies on our way home.”

Tony couldn’t help it, a mildly hysterical giggle escaped him that wasn’t muffled by the suit. He froze in…well fear when Barnes’ eyes moved from Owen to him. Barnes was terrifying, it didn’t matter that his dark hair was pulled into a messy ponytail at the top of his head, or that he was wearing a well worn leather jacket, and a shirt that displayed the map of Erebor on his chest. Bucky Barnes was still the Winter Soldier and he was still ranked above Natasha on ‘people who should scare you’ list the Avengers had going on.

“Thank you for caring for my kid.” Barnes said, tilting his head slightly in Tony’s direction. He wasn’t radiating hostility, not yet, but he was waiting for Tony to make the first move, to turn this bizarre encounter into something violent.

“No problem, part of my job. Uh…” Glancing over at Owen who was watching Barnes with open childlike adoration Tony made up his mind. “Can we go talk someplace private?”

Barnes narrowed his eyes in consideration. “Only if you lose the suit.”

“Sir I recommend you do not do that.” Jarvis advised.

“Duly noted Jarvis. Don’t call for any backup for at least fifteen minutes.”

The AI sighed and opened up the suit, allowing Tony to step out. In his coffee and oil stained ACDC shirt and three day old jeans he looked a lot less impressive and more like a giant target. Tony felt even more fear curling in his gut but he ignored it and tilted his head towards the door.

Barnes looked over at Owen. “I’ll be back in a few minutes and then if there is nothing pressing we will check out.” His blue eyes then slid down to where Chompy was. “Chompy, guard.” The baby dragon moved from its sitting position to a standing one, clambering up onto Owen’s bed and placing itself between the door and Owen.

Tony let Barnes lead the way and was neither surprised nor shocked that he was led to the stairwell and led two floors up.

“What do you want?” Finally came Barnes’ question. The Soviet assassin leaned against a wall, deceptively relaxed as he looked at Tony’s face.

“To apologize.” Tony clenched and unclenched his hands as he rocked a little on his feet. “When you left the message for Steve through Peggy’s security feed you said a couple of things that made me wonder. Most of the world thinks my dad was some amazing hero, some sort of good guy, and….fuck you’re the first person I’ve ever met who didn’t say something nice about him the first time he was mentioned. If a Soviet Assasin said my dad was a bad guy then I felt that maybe it had some cred and looked it up.” Tony motioned towards Barnes’ arm. “Stark Tech, your arm, your shoulder, your ribs, how it all connects that’s Stark Tech that I didn’t know existed til I went digging in my dad’s old files. How they wiped your memories, Stark Tech. Most of your old go go gadgets, also Stark Tech. My dad was Hydra in everything but the name and….he probably knew it was you who was being experimented on, he was probably the one who let Hydra infiltrate Shield from the get go.”

Barnes stared at Tony, letting the information hang in the air.

“I apologize too.” Barnes finally said and Tony tried to not flinch or flail at the thought of Barnes apologizing to him. “I apologize for not killing him sooner and saving you.”

Tony knew he had blanched at those words. He tried not to sway on the stairs, reaching out for a railing to steady himself. It was…god fucking damnit, it was strange to know that Barnes had reached out too and settled his hand on Tony’s other shoulder. Tony wanted to throw up or curl into a small ball or go find the biggest bottle of alcohol and drink it in one go.

“My file says that Hydra ordered the hit on your father. They didn’t. I had been sent on another mission to kill another scientist in New York, when at a function my target and your father spoke to each other. Back then they did not wipe me frequently because I was a good pet back then, but I had enough memories in my head to know that Howard was a higher level threat than my target. Instead of following through with my original mission I went off the plan, following your father, gathering intel, remembering more and more why I thought he was dangerous. It took me a month to get everything in order for the assassination, especially since I didn’t have Hydra’s resources on hand. I killed him in a manner that I believed would not only tarnish his legacy but also protect you from any…prying. After that I was retrieved, the records altered to make it appear that I had never broken the programming, and I was no longer allowed in New York City.”

Tony let his legs slowly collapse as he moved to sit down on the floor. Pressing his head into his knees he focused on breathing, because breathing was safe. Only Pepper had known about this before, had known what Howard had…done behind closed doors and she had only found out after a particularly spectacular emotional breakdown from him after someone had made him go back into that house of horrors that sat in Malibu. Now there was someone else, someone who Tony had idolized as a kid without even actually knowing him, someone who Tony had identified with as he had grown up because if Tony was to have a role model then he could have done so much worse than Bucky Barnes. This same someone who had killed his father because he had understood that Howard Stark had been a bad man, that in some ways he had been a victim too by Howard, and when he had seen that Howard hadn’t stopped that he had done what he could to make Tony safe.

“Accepted.” Tony murmured out trying to not feel comforted by the fact that a Soviet assassin was rubbing his back in a soothing motion. It wasn’t working, that not feeling comforted by it, but he could pretend. “That apology is accepted because you tried, and that’s more than anyone else ever did. Jesus you were a brainwashed super soldier assassin and you felt the need to save me from my own parents and did it. You saved me and now I have an angry soviet panda kitten as a guardian angel.”

Barnes let out a soft huff of laughter. “I wasn’t nearly so good as you make me out to be. It was more of a revenge kill than just protecting you, that was an added bonus.”

“Evil assassin or not you’re not a bad guy.” Tony felt the world calming a little and he finally straightened up. “Which sounds really fucked up.”

“That’s because it is.” Barnes helpfully pointed out and Tony tried not to smile.

“But apologies for my bastard sperm donor aside there was another reason why I wanted to talk.” Because this plan was insane, it was totally insane and he’d thought it up only minutes before when he’d asked Barnes to come talk with him in private. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say you’re still in the stab shit in the shadows business right?”

Barnes’ hand left Tony’s back and Tony turned to be able to watch him. There was a short precise nod and Tony didn’t want to admit to feeling better knowing Barnes hadn’t let his skills go to waste.

“Well I know you know about the Avengers and I know you know about Shield. You also are probably aware how thinly stretched we are in our attempts to not let the world get blown up all the time. Now with our best spies losing all their mystery and ability to work covertly we’re more than a little fucked. So…this is where you come in. You won’t be an Avenger, you’ll work for me, under whatever alias you want to and be paid with my money and also have a really good insurance plan that includes dental and a 401 k. What I want you to do is find threats and neutralize them quietly, I want you to put shit down before it starts up and if you can’t then give me a head’s up and the Avengers will deal with it.”

“You’re insane.” Barnes muttered.

“Yes, but that is part of my charm.” Tony shot back.

A faint sort of grin turned Barnes’ plush mouth up and if Tony wasn’t helplessly head over heels for Pepper he might have tried to hit that. Because scary soviet or not Barnes was hot in a bad boy sort of way that Tony had never been able to fully achieve. Jesus no wonder Steve was still pining over the man even though there was a massive amount of issues between them. If Tony had had that then he was pretty sure he’d have never let go for anything.

“Alright, I like this deal though we are going to iron out details later.” Barnes said as he got up holding out his metal hand for Tony to take. “Because we are going to need contingencies and I want to make sure that if something happens to me Owen is taken care of.”

“Yea, sure, uh shoot me an email and Jarvis will make sure I get it. Though curious minds wanna know, how the hell did you get a kid?” Tony chattered as he began following Barnes down the stairs.

“Same way everyone else gets kids, Stark, a stork brought him to me.”

Yup, that was it. Tony was now a little bit in love with the most terrifying man on earth. He’d be forgiven though, when he told Pepper later, she’d understand. Everyone always had at least one hero that they had a crush on, it just usually happened to be Captain America people lost their underwear for and not Bucky Barnes. There should be a club for that, a club that was called ‘I accidentally got a crush on Bucky Barnes’. Tony would be president, because while Steve was obviously the first member of this club, Tony was the one who actually made it and named it. Steve could be vice president, or the sad little guy who just had a framed picture of Bucky that he stared at forlornly and sighed every now and then. Yea that was going to happen, as soon as he got back to the Tower. He was making t-shirts and mugs and probably going to try and start making Bucky Bears again. But more tasteful than the last round of Bucky Bears had been. This, this was a good plan, and when he stepped back into his suit he wondered how much Bucky paraphernalia he could get and whether or not he’d have to fight Steve for it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Parker joins the club

“I think he’s dead.” A child was speaking in that strange distinctly New York mix of apathy and concern.

“He is not dead.” Was the reply, a man whose voice held something of maybe a Russian accent or it could have been Brooklyn. It was hard to tell with all the ringing going on in his ears. “He is barely conscious and severely injured, but he is not dead.”

There was some shuffling and Peter felt his body being carefully lifted up by someone. The arms holding him were strong and he was pressed against a chest that literally felt like a living brick wall. It was sort of comforting if it wasn’t for the fact he was in agonizing pain and had just been hurled over several buildings only to smack into one and slide down the side. Well Peter was pretty sure he slid down the side, when he hit the building everything went a little fuzzy.

Still the person carried him down what might have been a fire escape because it still mostly smelled and sounded like he was outside a building rather than inside. Though the scent of garbage wasn’t so oppressive right now, not when his face was smushed into the chest of a man who smelt like chocolate chip cookies, vanilla, metal, and the clean sort of sweat that came from someone who knew what hygiene was. Maybe he should ask the stranger to come to his highschool to teach his classmates proper hygene techniques. It’d be nice to not have to retch when he walked into the boy’s locker room but there wasn’t much little Peter Parker could do about it. 

“Owen I am going to put the man in the safe spot across the street, you stay with him while I go back to the apartment to get our things.” Came the older voice that had informed the first voice that Peter was not in fact dead.

“Can’t I go get the things?” Owen asked.

“No. Whoever threw him is likely following besides, you still can’t lift my emergency bag yet.”

“Well that’s ‘cause you put stupid heavy stuff in there.” Came what sounded like a pout and Peter despartely wanted to open his eyes to see this kid and his savior. But his body wasn’t responding to anything yet. It wasn’t long before Peter was put down on what felt like concrete. He heard the smaller person, Owen, child, shuffle close and there was an odd sound as something nudged him.

“No Chompy. Don’t move him, he’s hurt.” Owen scolded whatever it was that had nudged Peter.

It was when Peter finally managed to make a sound, a whine in the back of his throat as he finally managed to pry his eyes open that the explosion came. The ground beneath them shook and there was a quiet terrified gasp from the kid, the kid who looked like maybe he could have been a small Peter. Maybe ten maybe elven, probably smallest in his class looking so delicate like the wrong move would just break him. The kid had carroty hair and freckles all over and there was a scar on the left side of his face that trailed from temple to the top of his lips. That was the side facing Peter.

“Kid?” Peter groaned out trying to get his limbs to move, because there was a ten year old kid with him and across the street the apartment complex was on fire.

The kid ignored him, face pale and looking terrified green eyes fixated on the apartment complex. Then there was another noise, something that sounded like ‘mrrrrp’. Peter glanced at the source and tried to not think that he had serious brain damage because it seemed like a twelve pound feathered lizard thing was nudging the boy’s leg. With an obvious swallow and a deep breath to try and calm himself the kid, Owen, looked at the lizard who on closer inspection seemed to be wearing a sparkly rainbow bow and watched as he indicated Peter.

Owen turned to look at Peter. “I’m sorry did you say something? I’m deaf on this side.” The boy waved his hand towards his left ear and looked apologetic, even as he kept glancing out on the street to search for something. Or likely someone, because hadn’t the man who’d put Peter here gone back to get the emergency bags?

“Just tried to catch your attention.” Peter hated how his voice was right now, high pitched and breathy because his entire body felt like it had been pummeled. “Maybe you should find a new hiding spot? There’s a very bad man after me and he might hurt you.”

Owen shook his head. “Uncle Yakov said to stay here with you. I think you’re a superhero but Uncle Yakov’s a soldier and I think he knows more about this stuff than you do. It’s okay. Chompy will set anyone on fire if they get too close.”

The feathery winged…okay Peter was just going to give up and call it a dragon. The small dragon opened its jaws wide and pranced in place at the idea of being able to set someone on fire. The child frowned slightly at the dragon. “Not unless they’re trying to hurt us Chompy.”

The dragon deflated a little, though it kept one yellow eye out on the street.

Neither Owen nor Chompy flinched when two small bags were dropped directly into their hiding spot without anyone seeming to be there. Owen simply beamed brightly and reached for the…Sailor Moon bookbag and put it on his back. The other bag was themed with Avatar, which Chompy nudged closer to Owen to keep by his side.

Peter was distracted for only a moment by the bags appearance before he groaned and had to lay back on the concrete. He should get up, he should be running out there and facing his enemy and not letting some random soldier deal with Peter’s problems.

“Come out come out wherever you are Spiderman. I know you’re still here somewhere.”

Doctor Oct walked down the street, looking terrifying and evil and even more powerful than usual which really sucked because that meant pain. That prompted Peter to sit up again, reaching for the kid and trying to tug him further back into their well hidden hidey hole. It was between the two stoops of two buildings, overgrown bushes providing most of the cover.

Then a shadow formed out of nowhere, materializing in the middle of the street and looking like the grim reaper. If the grim reaper was a cyborg with a gun fetish. Through the smoke Peter saw a shining metal arm that contrasted nicely against the all black combat ensemble the embodiment of death seemed to be wearing. It’d almost be cliché, Peter thought woozily, if he didn’t wear it so well. Like he was meant to look like the scariest motherfucker in the scariest motherfucker Beauty Pagent and had been crowned every single year.

“Who the hell are you?” Doctor Octopus growled, body falling into a defensive position.

“Your momma.” Came the immediate reply in the thickest Brooklyn drawl the scary man could manage.

Sirens could be heard in the distance sort of, in all actuality it seemed like all sound had stopped. Silence blanketed everything and Peter fought down the hysterical and mildly manic giggle he wanted to let out. The expression on Doctor Octopus’ face was priceless. He looked so insulted and bewildered by being insulted with an insult that was better suited a playground as opposed to a supervillain fight.

The man in black was languid and slow in his movements and the swagger he had when he walked was terrifying. He was in no hurry, this fight didn’t even register to him as being something highly important to finish. There was not a single strand of tension in his body as he gazed at Doctor Octopus with eyes that made Peter shiver. It was like there was nothing there, just ice, endless amounts of ice that would freeze a man to his core.

Doctor Octopus took one step back before he shook himself and rallied. “I have no quarrel with you, just tell me where Spiderman is and I’ll leave you be.”

The man in black’s facial expression was one of utter disdain. He caught Doctor Octopus’ gaze and then tilted his head towards the burning apartment building. Without words the man in black conveyed that Doctor Octopus had fucked up, he had fucked up so very bad, and that if he didn’t back down now then he was going to be murdered. For all his smarts, Peter mused, Doctor Octopus sure was stupid sometimes when it came to picking his fights.

There was a fission of worry in Peter's mind that maybe this man, who Peter was pretty sure was Owen’s Uncle Yakov, wasn’t going to be able to hold his own in the fight.

Then Peter’s mind went blank as Doctor Octopus let one of his tentacles go for the man. It never connected. The man in black, Yakov, slipped by like he was nothing but some sort of liquid smoke. A hand gun appeared and fired, finding its place in Octopus’ shoulder. It was a fight full of unencumbered grace and brutality. It wasn’t even, there was no way the fight was even close to even. It looked like Yakov was going to win within moments, that was until Octopus did something, an electric shock maybe when he had grabbed Yakov’s cyborg arm. There was a whirring noise and sparks and it stopped working long enough for Oct to tear it off by the elbow.

Peter jolted, he was injured, very injured but he had to help. He could do something. Just as he was trying to move to get up a small hand reached out and pushed him back.

“No, Uncle Yakov said to stay here.” Owen reminded Peter. The kid was pale and his breath was coming in short gasps but he still seemed fairly calm despite having just seen his uncle’s robo arm ripped off.

“I can go help.” Peter tried to argue, realizing that if he was arguing with a small child over whether or not he could go help probably meant he couldn’t go help.

“No. Don’t make me get Chompy to sit on you.”

“But-“ Peter tried again.

“Chompy, face hug.”

Peter was never ever going to live this down. He groaned when the dragon skittered over, knocking him down all the way again onto the concrete. Then it clambered onto his face and settled there, claws digging into the mask to anchor itself but not to actually hurt Peter.

“Is your uncle doing okay?” Peter asked, his voice muffled through both his mask and the warm feathery weight of Chompy on his face.

“Yea. He’s okay, he just brought out the laser gun.” Owen narrated easily, like he was commenting on the weather rather than having a front row seat to a super villain vs…whatever Owen’s uncle was fight. “And shot off a tentacle thing on the bad man. Uncle Yakov isn’t happy that the bad man burnt our cookies and apartment trying to get you. Now Uncle’s taken up the tentacle and used it to hit the bad man over the head. The bad man is down now and Uncle Yakov is disarming him.”

Peter could hear the sounds of metal being wrent and not too quiet moans of pain. Then there were several jolting and sickening snaps, the sounds of bones breaking, and Peter wondered what Yakov was breaking and decided he didn’t want to know right now. Sure he was supposed to be a higher moral authority, he was supposed to do good, but right now he was lying on the ground with a dragon clinging to his face broken and bleeding himself after a fight with a madman. It was petty and vindictive but Peter sort of hoped that whatever Yakov dished out Doctor Octopus wasn’t going to bounce back from any time soon. Maybe he’d actually manage to stay in jail this time, that would be wonderful.

“Was he trying to escape?” The warm older voice was back, Yakov, Peter slid the name into place. Peter hadn’t even heard the guy approaching and that was, well remarkable, considering he had super senses.

“Yea he wanted to help you but you said for us to stay here so I helped make sure he stayed here. Are you okay? Your arm is leaking…and sparking…and is it supposed to make that noise?”

What Peter had written off as overworked machinery noise, actually more like the horrible overheated noise computers of his childhood made, had to be the arm. Which after speaking was the only noise the man was making, which was scary but still cool.

“No but it does not currently impede function.” The Brooklyn accent was fading away, sliding into something a little harsher. Russian, it was Russian or maybe something else that came from Eastern Europe that sounded drunk and angry.

“O…kay.” Owen mumbled, sounding indecisive. Like he wanted to push the issue but didn’t think right now was the best time.

“Kid I am going to pick you up and take you to my safe house.” Yakov informed Peter of the decision with what seemed to be the perfect combination of parental figure and a scary Russian soldier with a cyborg arm. Peter almost wanted to protest but he still had a dragon clinging to his face, he could feel his suit sticking to his skin in a mixture of sweat and blood and honestly this guy just took on Doctor Octopus just because Peter fell on to his fire escape. So Yakov had earned a green light to do whatever in Peter’s book.

Instead of talking Peter raised up his less injured arm and gave Yakov a thumb’s up. There was a rustle of movement as it seemed like Yakov was maybe shouldering something or perhaps Owen was.

“Chompy, down.” Yakov ordered and the weight on Peter’s face moved. Peter almost said he was able to breath again except he really wasn’t. His chest ached so badly that he had at least one rib broken if not more.

Then Peter was lifted up with one arm and slung over Yakov’s back in a fireman’s carry. It jolted his body, it hurt like hell, but Peter understood the necessity of getting out of dodge by the time law enforcement arrived. He slid in and out of consciousness as he was carried through back alleys and dimly lit streets. He wasn’t aware that they’d entered a building until they had and Peter was once again placed on something, but it was softer than concrete.

“You are lucky I have access to this place.” Yakov said as he arranged Peter on the cot in a way that was almost comfortable.

“Yea…thanks for helping out. I’m sorry he ripped off your arm.” Peter mumbled as he finally got to look at the face of the man who had rescued him up close. God damn the man had beautiful eyes. Peter was secure enough in his sexuality to be able to appreciate the beauty of people he wasn’t attracted to sexually. The artist in Peter was perking up, wanting to drag the scary Russian cyborg all around New York to photograph him. This guy was photogenic, hell he was more photogenic than the ridiculously photogenic guy. Peter wanted his portofilo to include this guy because he had so much depth, it wasn’t just the aesthetics, like the guy was hot, but he exuded something. Something that was compelling and awesome and a little scary but still awesome.

Peter watched as the man shrugged one shoulder. “You needed help and I am attempting to be a good role model for Owen.”

“Whatever your reasons, thanks anyway.”

There was a quirk now of Yakov’s lips, a tilt of his plush pink mouth and Peter really didn’t want to think about another guy’s mouth like that but it was hard not to. Those cold eyes thawed a little bit and Peter relaxed a bit more.

“You aren’t going to thank me for what I need to do now.”

Peter had been relaxed and now he had tensed up again. His body protested the tension, making his breathing stutter.

“What do you need to do?” Peter asked warily.

“Take off your mask to double check for the concussion I’m fairly certain you have. Take off your suit to set some of your bones, stitch up the open wounds, bandage you properly, make sure you don’t require surgery. If you require surgery then I will have to call in a friend of a friend to help and I do not want that, but nonsurgical procedures I can perform.”

“You a doc?”

“No, I simply had the misfortune of having a friend who liked to get beat up whenever we could not afford to go see a doctor for proper medical care. I was also trained in basic field medicine when I was in the army and after that…well perhaps I should think about getting a doctorate in medicine with what I know.”

Peter weighed in the options at hand.

“You’re not gonna tell people who I am?” Peter asked aloud, because he had to.

There was a flat look directed at him from Yakov before Yakov very deliberately held up his broken robo cop arm. Okay yes, Peter was being stupid.

“Sorry.” Peter mumbled and Yakov shook his head. “It’s alright I understand secrey.”

Then without further ado Yakov began peeling off the mask. To Yakov’s credit when Peter’s face was revealed he eyed the bruised and bloodied face with a frown. “You are very young, also your nose is broken.”

“Is i- SHIT.” Peter swore, not expecting the hand that had come up and wrenched his nose back in to place before his spidey senses could even think to tingle. His hands came up, causing him to swear more as even more pain went through his body. But even as he was glaring at Yakov over his fingers the man had leaned forward and was looking into his eyes with a certain sort of focus that Peter had never seen before. It was weird and sort of thrilling and if Peter wasn’t straight he’d be turned on even if he was aching so much all over his body.

“Concussion, though mild. You’re lucky.” Yakov muttered. Leaning back Yakov turned, looking over to the tray of medical implements and brought up a pair of scissors.

“What? No. Man no…please?” He whined when he realized what was happening or going to happen.

“Trying to maneuver you out of spandex will likely make things worse. If you’re truly upset about it I’ll get my employer make you a new one.” Yakov said as he began to carefully cut away the red and blue suit.

“Your employer?” Peter asked, trying to focus on anything but his suit being cut off him. It’d be weird or even scary if Yakov didn’t exude this weird…professionalism about himself. Even with half an arm and dirtied up from a fight with a supervillain.

“Yes, he owns this safe house. Which I urge you to use when you get injured again, because you are stupid and young and believe that the only way to save the world is through this.” Yakov motioned down towards Peter’s body and his suit.

“But I can, I have powers and if I can do something to help I should.”

A ragged sigh left Yakov as he kept cutting and peeling away Peter’s suit. “You are young and soon you are going to be old. You are going to have nightmares, guilt, paranoia, and many other things. You will feel isolated from your loved ones because they won’t see what you have seen or give up what you have given up. One day you will be pieces of a person who is not the one who started the journey and you will never ever be able to go back to being what you once were. Change happens to everyone, but I am talking more than just simple change, I am talking about death of a soul. Your soul will die, you will die, and if you are unlucky enough not to physically die as well then you must try to find a way to cobble together all the little scraps left into something functional and it will be a different person.”

“Did you die?” Peter asked in a whisper, not even really able to bring his voice to a higher volume. He’d never ever actually met another person who…wasn’t normal and had chosen to fight the good fight. Sure he’d seen the Avengers from afar but usually stuck away from their battles, and there were a handful of mutants at his school, but there was a distinct lack of adult role models who Peter could talk to about this.

“Yes. Several times over and the only reason I am even vaguely good is because I now have someone who is alive that makes me want to be good. I am still broken, I am not…” Yakov paused as he obviously tried to put his thoughts in to words. Peter didn’t even care that Yakov was pouring iodine into his wounds to flush them out he was too caught up in Yakov. “I am not entirely a person anymore. I let people scrape that out of me and put something else inside. I am at best a house trained monster and the only reason I am that is because I am an enhanced human and while the techniques they used on me worked very well on regular humans, they could never truly keep me hollow. So I have bits of the child I had been, the man I had been, the soldier I had been, the prisoner I had been, the monster I had been, and now the parent I am now. I am a patchwork quilt of nightmares and dreams, neither truly good nor truly evil anymore.”

Peter opened his mouth to say more, but what could he say to that. Yakov wasn’t even telling him not to fight, not to put on the mask. Yakov was warning him, giving him a view of the cost of his actions, the prices he would pay personally to keep doing this. It was…Uncle Ben had given him so much and has inspired him to walk this path and somehow it felt like Yakov while not condoning the same path was warning him of the dangers ahead. That Yakov was letting Peter choose his own fate. When a noise finally started to make a way through his closed of throat Barbie Girl began playing obnoxiously loud from the dark black duffle bag on the floor.

Yakov bent, fishing the phone out and answering it with a smooth “Barnes.”

Barnes. That named tickled the back of Peter’s head. Peter didn’t even try to listen in to the frantic voice on the other end too focused on what his brain was trying to figure out. Still he distantly heard Yakov’s side of the conversation.

“I am alive and so is Owen. Yes, he threw a modified grenade in our apartment. No, we were not in the apartment when he did that. No Owen is not hurt.” There was a pause. “I am functional.” Another pause. “I am functional.” Another longer pause. “I will come in for repairs tomorrow if your lab can be Avenger free.” A huff from Yakov as the voice kept talking at a rapid pace. “Yes, now I have no excuse to not take you up on your offer of an apartment. You know my requirements for one….no I don’t mind if Jarvis is installed. I am functional Stark….I am always in pain Tony that is why the question never gives you the answer you want.” Yakov said quietly into the receiver. There was some more frantic and slightly angry jabbering on the other end. “If it will make you feel better you can give the others my intel on the latest Hydra bases to blow them up so you can get them out of the Tower and also let your vengeance free. No Tony I don’t think we’ll be leaving the safe house for awhile. I have a civilian here in need of aid, no I won’t, they’re a mutant and wish for privacy. Yes I will call you again when I’m done.”

When Yakov hung up the phone Peter was gaping at him. Peter couldn’t help it. It was like the world has gone upside down or something and then sideways and well….

“You’re Bucky Barnes.” Peter gasped.

Yakov flinched at the name but he kept his face from reacting. Peter reeled. “Holy shit you’re Bucky Barnes. I have a poster of you and the rest of the Commandos on my wall. I did a paper on you just last month for AP US History.”

“Don’t swoon on me.” Yak…Bucky said wryly as he started to go back to work.

Peter’s mouth opened and closed several times. This was…the best thing ever. He had literally been saved by his childhood hero. His childhood hero had saved him and he was acting like it was nothing at all and…and…then all the things Bucky had said came back to him. And…okay Peter’s excitement died a little bit at that, and then totally when Bucky began stitching up his wounds.

“You’re alive.” Was all Peter could come up with.

“After a fashion.”

“Is there…do you like it? The future?” Peter wished he had a pen and paper, maybe a tape recorder. He wanted…to be able to immortalize the fact that he was talking to Bucky Barnes.

“Well there’s more medicine now, they’ve cured polio which is good and it’s more available to people who need it. Prices are ridiculous and politics even more so. There’s a lot of food now, don’t have to boil everything to make it edible so that’s a plus. The bananas are lies though.”

“The bananas are lies?” Peter echoed, because that was…well he could focus on that.

“Yea, they’re lies in the shape of bananas. Owen loves ‘em but he’s never known better, he’s never had a real banana.”

“How can bananas be lies?”

“They just are.”

It itched in the back of his head and burned in his throat, the question he wanted to ask. Mainly ‘how are you alive’ and ‘why are you here now’. But even with what Bucky had shown him earlier, the words he had shared it seemed too much. Like they were secrets so much bigger than Peter being Spiderman.

Two set bones later Peter was finally bandaged up enough to maybe be sent home. Owen had been nowhere in the room with them so far, which was good because despite the kid seeing Bucky rip off the tentacle of another man and beat him with it Peter didn’t think that watching medical procedures was on the top of the list. Bucky had even been kind to give him painkillers before setting the bones, so now the world was warm and fuzzy and awesome despite having a walking cast on his leg and his arm in a brace.

“So do you want me to cover you up and let you sleep?” Bucky finally asked when everything was over.

“No, I gotta go home. Promised my Aunt May I’d be back tonight.”

Bucky looked down at Peter and then pinched the bridge of his nose muttering about idiot children and their futile attempts at hiding being superheros from family. But with a deep breath Bucky steadied himself. “I will get you shorts and a shirt and we will take you to your Aunt’s house.”

Peter wanted to protest but…it wasn’t going to work well because the world was very hazy and walking was going to be hard on his own without a crutch. He didn’t protest when Bucky came back inside and dressed him in a shirt and shorts that seemed to be made of something loose and very stretchy. Nor did he put up a fuss when Bucky put his own broken arm in a sling having stuffed the hole with something while Peter hadn’t been looking before slinging his non injured arm under Peter’s arms and hauled him up. It hurt for maybe a moment before the floaty feeling came back. Peter dozed in the taxi from the safe house to Aunt May’s, barely aware of a dragon curling up in his lap while Owen snuggled in on Bucky’s injured side. They were a strange sight when they all got out of the cab and made their way to the front door.

Bucky rang it was less than fifteen seconds before Aunt May was at the door and gaping at the motley crew.

“Peter! What happened to you? And who is this?”

“Sergeant Barnes ma’m.” Bucky stuck out his free hand and turned on his charm. It was…so weird to see his Aunt turn pink as she took Bucky’s hand and shook it in greeting. “Yes I am related to that Sergeant Barnes, he’s my great uncle. I’m sorry to be bringing your nephew home in this condition. There was this crazy super hero fight in Brooklyn and Peter, Owen, and I got caught up in it. Peter ended up getting injured trying to protect people from all the chaos going on. He stuck with my nephew to keep him safe while I distracted the nutjob until help could arrive and we high tailed it out of there. We ended up at the hospital but Peter was out of it and couldn’t identify himself or next of kin for a long while. When he could it was all over, though he has a few prescriptions waiting to be filled at your local pharmacy it was closed by the time we got here. What he has in his system should keep him happy until tomorrow morning.”

Aunt May’s mouth was hanging open and her expression was flitting between worried and so proud. Then her eyes focused on the shine of the metal of Bucky’s arm and the fact it didn’t fill the sling out all the way.

“What happened to you?” Her voice was cautious but Bucky just grinned and rolled his shoulders, patting Owen’s head with his hand.

“I have a prosthetic arm and in the fight it got broken. Already called up my…well mechanic you’d say to help fix what got broken.”

Aunt May looked at the bedraggled appearance of them all, her eyes zeroing in on Owen and then sliding back to Bucky. “Are you two going to be okay getting back home this late?” She asked.

“Home got blown up.” Owen supplied trying to be helpful and Aunt May’s mouth dropped again, looking horrified. Bucky grimaced slightly at the reminder.

“That’s it. Sergant Barnes you’re taking the couch and Peter you’re bunking with Owen. I will not let either of you sleep in some hotel tonight when you’ve helped my nephew out and ohgoodgodwhatisthat?”

Peter didn’t even have to look to know what Aunt May was pointing at. “That’s Chompy Aunt May. He’s a…lizard thing.”

“Genetically altered reptilian. He’s Owen’s Service Animal. I got him from my employer when he found out I was starting to look in to getting one for Owen.” Bucky explained.

“Who is your employer?” Aunt May asked, not quite ready to rescind her invitation but looking like she was thinking about it.

“Tony Stark.”

Peter watched as Aunt May relaxed, because Tony Stark was famous for giving people strange and unusual gifts. The more he liked someone the likelihood of it being unique and borderline illegal was even more so. Still Stark wouldn’t endanger a child, at least, Peter hoped so.

“Okay, come in.”

The three shuffled in to the townhouse with little ceremony. “Bedroom?” Bucky asked letting Peter direct him up the stairs. Aunt May, bless her soul, was staying downstairs to rummage through the closet to find more bedding and maybe a snack suitable for Owen to eat.

Bucky deposited Peter on the bed, glancing at the poster of the Howling Commandos. He straightened his shoulders a little bit more and he looked down at Peter.

“When you’ve healed up I’m giving you lessons on how to not get your ass kicked. Your Aunt’s a real nice lady and she don’t deserve to put you in an early grave. By the way she bought the story for now, but you are not foolin’ her one bit. Man up and tell her the truth soon, she deserves it because she loves you.”

Peter blinked and nodded. “Yessir.”

“Now go to sleep kid, Owen and Chompy will be up soon to cuddle you better.”

And it made him ache, seeing a man in the doorway and giving him such a fond smile. It reminded him of Uncle Ben and how he’d tuck Peter in at night. It was so painful to have someone there, someone telling him to go to sleep and sort of caring about him. The heartache made him shut his eyes and suck in a wet breath, hoping to wait it out. Aunt May came in a few minutes later, brushing the hair on his forehead and giving him a kiss. “I love you Peter.” She whispered before setting down an extra pillow next to Peter. When Owen and Chompy finally came and crawled into bed with him Peter had gotten the ache under control. He even managed to maneuver so he could give a little more room to the kid and then drifted off to sleep with Chompy wrapped around his head.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony gives Bucky some really good drugs

It was one of those painful moments, the realization that he would never ever be free of laboratories or scientists or pain that made Yakov die. Yakov for all he had been pieces of those who had been before him had not encountered this. Not this sort of pain at having his nerves sending message after message of debilitating agony if he was anything but what he was. Not this fear that maybe his trust had been misplaced and he was about to be cut open again, rearranged from the inside out to suit his newest master’s needs. In those blurred moments on the uncomfortable table Yakov melted away, like the flimsy dream he was, and Bucky returned. Because Bucky knew how to handle these things, torture, experiments, interrogations, recalibration.

“Sir, Sergeant Barnes’ vitals are currently at unsafe levels due to stress. I strongly recommend giving him something to either ease the pain or put him unconscious.” Came the prim voice of the AI that Bucky really kinda liked. For something inorganic it sure had a shitton of sass and Bucky liked sass.

“Shit. Barnes, why didn’t you say you needed something? I know your arm hooked up to your nervous system but the schematics showed that there was a pain inhibitor and….I am an idiot. I am a goddamn idiot. Of course they’d take that out. Jesus Tapdancing Christ.” Tony swore, getting up to storm towards a cabinet filled with vials.

“I don’t think Jesus tapdances buddy.” Came Bucky’s strained reply. He flinched internally, because was he still supposed to be human here? Was he allowed to joke? Or was he going to get punished for this? He hoped he wasn’t going to get punished, if he was then it would make taking care of Owen more difficult.

“If he’s to be my lord and savior then he better fucking tapdance like Kermit the Frog.” Came Tony’s dry voice as he threw open the cabinet. “Jarvis how much?”

“Can tha frog tapdance?” Bucky mumbled, trying to figure out if the muppet had ever done so. Not yet, they hadn’t gotten far into season 1 yet and Tony had specifically said that the Muppet Show was sacred and could only be watched when Tony was gracing their presence. Which was okay, because at least Tony was there to explain the things Bucky and Owen didn’t get and also because Bucky and Owen had Sailor Moon and Avatar all to themselves.

Tony was Sokka. Owen and Bucky had come to the agreement simultaneously and had planned on getting Tony a boomerang and a cactus for Christmas.

“I would suggest a dose and a half of what Captain Roger’s is given, sir. The bloodwork that Sergeant Barnes submitted to us showed that he has a version of the Super Serum to aide his metabolism, and if the files I have gotten are correct on what they have done to him then he has likely also been subjected to multiple substances that would affect him so his body would gain immunity.”

“Alrighty then. Wow never knew someone who wasn’t big and green and angry or a god to actually manage to require more of this stuff than Rogers. Barnes, you can remain secure in the fact that you can still, probably, outdrink Rogers.” Tony chattered as he came over with two vials of some substance. “Oh this, this is homemade technically highly illegal painkillers Bruce and I made to help out our unnatural teammates. It will make you feel good and I will of course make sure that no video footage remains of whatever this shit makes you say.” With all the professionalism that only someone who had heavily self medicated with illicit drugs could do or maybe someone who actually had medical training, it was hard to tell with Tony, the mad genius got one dose in a syringe and cheerfully stabbed Bucky in the arm and emptied the contents. Then a second syringe was out, half dose now and delivered in much the same manner.

“Tony! _Tony_! Where are you?”

Bucky stared up at the ceiling, blinking slowly and smiling as liquid happiness slipped through his veins. It was warm and fluffy like a basket full of kittens and he wondered at how nice it was to not feel pain anymore. Pain had been his constant companion for years, he could barely remember a time without it. But Tony, the weird little science gremlin he was, had managed to make it not hurt. Which was awesome. Really awesome. And it had only taken one and a half times what Steve was supposed to get of the stuff because as Jarvis said ‘they had likely built up a tolerance to all sorts of medications’, they being the Red Room. Stupid Red Room, they made their entire facility ridiculous to navigate by painting everything red. Red walls, red floors, red ceilings, red fixtures, red toilets, red everything. Bucky had half a mind to send them a note to rethink the color scheme and to get a decorator who wasn’t an evil Russian to maybe redo the place.

“Tony you begged off the Avenger’s mission pleading to do some actual business to pay the bills but when you’re supposed to be there you don’t show up and now there is a little boy and a dragon in our living room playing DDR. Tony why is there a child in our living room and oh my god why is he here?”

Lifting his head off the metal table Bucky looked at the ginger haired lady looking at him in horror. With a small frown he looked down at himself, ah, he was shirtless. That was impolite. He didn’t want to be impolite, he had to be a kinda good role model for Owen even when Owen wasn’t there to see him.

“Sorry for the lack of shirt ma’m. Didn’t know I’d be in polite company while Tony gives me a hand.” And he grinned because it was funny. It was funny and he giggled, he giggled because it was funny. And so Tony would understand the joke Bucky raised up his half arm and wiggled it around, to which he got a snort of laughter out before Tony froze up again when Pepper cleared her throat.

“Hey Pepper this…is sort of what it looks like but sort of not what it looks like too. Did I tell you that you look ravishing today?”

“ _Tony_ one of the most wanted men alive is currently laying in your lab with half an arm and looks like Steve when he gets the special…Tony did you just give the extremely wanted super soldier assassin the illegal painkillers specifically designed for Steve?” The ginger lady had a face on, a very severe and disapproving face. It was the face that Bucky knew all too well, it was one he had practiced diligently in the mirror in a vain attempt to gain half the guilting powers that the Sisters had had when it came to Steve. It had worked too, very well, for a long time. Until Bucky had to go away, then Steve decided to be stupid because no one was around to guilt him into non stupid decisions.

“He isn’t Steve he’s Stupid. Big and spangly and stupid. His name should be ‘Stupid Goddamn Rogers’.” Bucky interjected with a frown. The woman shot Bucky an unimpressed look but he just returned it with a mulish one of his own.

“The answer is yes, I gave the Winter Soldier Steve’s painkillers because Jarvis told me Barnes’ vitals were at a dangerous level and that if I wanted to continue working on the arm and not have a dead body to deal with that I should do something to calm his system down. So I did. Oh and Pep, meet Inspector Gadget, our top secret super mole that’s been giving us intel on bad guys for months now since Natasha and Clint have decided that they’re trying to be a little less shadowy. Also legal guardian of the kid in the living room and I’m really surprised you’d focus more on Owen than on Chompy.”

“Tony I live with you. Of course I’m more surprised and startled by the presence of a child than I am by something that looks like a dragon. By the way it’s beating Sam’s scores.”

Bucky felt a smile curl up at his lips as he punched his left arm in the air in victory. The affect wasn’t as awesome as he wanted mainly because he lacked a hand to do the victory fist, but he was pretty sure he got his point across if Tony’s highly amused smile was anything to go by.

“He’s tha best unnatural abomination against god Hydra’s ever made. I’m totally gonna let him help out with s’more making tonight. Little guy’s earned his fire privileges.”

“Wait that thing-” “Chompy” Both Tony and Bucky interrupted, voices mingling in a way that had Pepper looking startled for a moment before going on. “Chompy is a Hydra experiment that can actually breathe fire and is smart enough to know how to play DDR and you two left it alone with a _child_.”

Bucky frowned at Pepper. “Ma’am Chompy is Owen’s Service Animal, so of course I left Chompy with Owen unsupervised. The thing I gotta worry about most when leaving those two alone is coming back to finding Chompy covered in bows and ribbons that get stuck in his feathers ‘cause Owen watched a nature documentary that said male animals tended to be flashier than females to attract a mate so Owen decided to help Chompy be even more flamboyant so if Chompy found a lady dragon at some point he’d be snazzy enough to get her and have lots of babies. Owen wants lots of dragon babies, I think he brought home a picture of him being covered in dragon babies with the words ‘Life Goal’ written under it.”

“So that’s why Chompy’s accessories always match his bows. I was wondering about that.” Tony mused aloud, sitting back down on his stool and starting to bend back over Bucky’s arm.

“Yea well he has a lot less bows now considering that asshole blew up our apartment.” Bucky growled wanting nothing more than to go hunt down that metal tentacle asshole and beat him over the head with his own metal appendages until Bucky felt better. Except he couldn’t because revenge murder wasn’t something he wanted to teach Owen was okay, Owen didn’t need to think of murdering people because they did him ill. So Bucky had let the man live even when every single instinct inside had told him to just fucking murder him because that was the only way to make sure the threat never came back.

“Wait the fight from last night was between you and Doctor Octopus? It was your apartment he bombed?” Pepper seemed to edge closer to him, her earlier wariness starting to melt away. Perhaps it was because his entire body was relaxed and he was letting Tony poke around in his arm without looking like he was contemplating murder. Well murdering Tony. Doctor Octopus was still pretty much on the ‘to murder that asshole if he breathes in my direction’ shit list. Bucky had multiple shitlists though he had never written them down. Maybe he should, Tony might enjoy it.

“Yea well it didn’t start out between me and the asshole but it ended that way. It always ends that way. Goddamnit why can’t I stay out of fights that don’t actually concern me?” Bucky moaned as he pushed his head back against the metal table.

“Well it seems like it’s because somewhere in the empty black hole in your chest there is a heart, or something resembling one. It might be ten sizes too small but at least it’s there.” Tony smirked at Bucky and Bucky narrowed his eyes, glaring ineffectually at the science gremlin. It was probably because Tony knew that Bucky liked him best.

“I am not the Grinch Tony.” Bucky grumbled.

“Really? Because Owen reminds me of Cindy Lou Who.”

“Boys, focus.” Pepper interrupted with a frown. “You don’t have a home now because you decided that you needed to step into a fight?”

“Well ya know Spiderman? He’s not as big as the Avengers and really he’s got potential but has shit for training, well he ended up on our fire escape and he was broken and bleeding and looked really pathetic so I had ta help him out. Besides Owen needs ta have a good role model ‘n just because I am an asshole doesn’t mean I’m a dick. So I helped the kid out and made sure both were in cover before finishing Spiderman’s fight, which was no trouble because that asshole burned my goddamn cookies and deserved the concussion I gave him. I did get petty and break his bones ‘cause he ripped my arm off ‘n it fuckin’ hurt but I consider it a win because no one got murdered and Owen learned tha value o’ helpin’ strangers out ‘n why it’s important ta always have a bag packed of the precious things.”

Pepper’s brows furrowed slightly. “You had bags packed?”

“’course I did. I might’ve had my memories scraped outta my head with a grapefruit spoon but I remembered things I learned in the War. Mainly tha people who made it out usually were tha paranoid ones who had bags packed and ready to go at a moment’s notice. So much history wiped away so easily….yea ya learned to get yer valuable shit on hand and in easy to carry bags so if they come ya can run.” Bucky closed his eyes, faces floating across his memory and words echoing in the dark parts of his soul that told him what had happened. What had really happened. It still made something inside Bucky twist in disgust and fury, that anyone ever thought it was right to round up people, to kill them, to destroy them like they were dogs. It had haunted him and told him that it could happen to anyone at any time and the habit, the paranoia stuck.

There was a noise that made Bucky open his eyes again. Pepper looked horrified but not in the scared way, but in the sad way. Like she had forgotten he had seen those things first hand, that he probably had helped free the people stuck in a place that was worse than a nightmare. It was how they had gotten captured, actually, the 107th. They’d been sent to free a camp that hadn’t just had regular folk, but it’d been one of the ones doing experiments. God there’d been a kid that Bucky remembered finding, young and terrified locked up in a lab. Bucky had gotten that kid out and with the other men planted a line that refused to move, they’d let the prisoners escape, give them a chance of getting to the allies. Honestly the mission had been dangerous to begin with but it had gone fubar when Hydra had come.

Captain America had gotten to see a lot of bad things in the war, but he’d never had to see that. He’d never had to free a camp of people who had been treated worse than trash. To walk by piles of… No. Bucky wasn’t going to let his mind keep wandering down that path.

Instead he focused on the surprise he felt when Pepper touched his hand, gripping it. There was something steely in her gaze now, something strong and determined.

“We’ll help you get a home.” She promised.

“Hey, HEY I already promised him that. I also promised whatever home he got would have Jarvis installed in it too because he needs to be linked with us for safety reasons. Barnes I know you’re drugged out of your mind but I am your favorite and I even started a club dedicated to how awesome you are. There’s a mug. Dum-E bring the mug!” Tony ordered with all the authority of a king. A king of a mad little nation of lunatic followers, but not the bad kind of lunatics, the good kind. The ones you wanted to go drinking with because there was going to be an adventure that happened but not the bad kind that ended up in being arrested or killed, more like weirdly defacing public property.

A queer little robot went to go fetch the mug in question. It was green and about the size of a soup bowl and said ‘Science Bros’ and well Bucky wasn’t all that good at science so why on earth would Tony make a mug that said ‘Science Bros’ on it?

“No, not that one. The other mug.” Tony huffed when he saw the mug being offered up to Bucky. The little robot went away and came back with a black mug also the size of a soup bowl except more mug shaped than the last one with ‘I <3 BB’ written in white letters and a gold star right next to the BB. Bucky stared at it blinking in awe.

“You made a mug for me. Barring Owen, you are now my favorite.”

“See? _See_ I am awesome. It also doesn’t hurt that I’m going to give you a new arm, an awesome arm. One that when damaged isn’t going to hurt you, because I am not an evil scientist like my father I am simply a mad scientist which are two very distinctly different things. Besides this arm is currently irreparable the internal wiring is just a mess. You’re lucky I already thought about this and decided I liked you a whole lot and while the calibration will need fine tuning, but otherwise you will have an indestructible arm. Vibranium outside, adamantium inside, with sensors that will let you sort of feel and maybe a few cool hidden weapons. I’ve been working on it for weeks. Most of what I’ve been doing has been mapping out the neural hookup and trying to figure out how to get this arm off without simulating the sensation of amputating it and how to leave the other internal work inside without ripping that out with the arm.”

Bucky followed along as best he could, nodding at all the appropriate points but something niggled in Bucky’s brain until he couldn’t keep it inside anymore.

“Ya ain’t nothing like your father Tony. Anybody who says you are is full of shit and don’t know nothin’ about anything. Ms. Potts you ever meet Howard?” Bucky turned his gaze to Pepper who had been watching the interaction between him and Tony somewhere between exasperation and growing fondness. His question startled her.

“No.”

“Good, yer lucky. Everyone thought the sun shone from Howard’s ass but it didn’t. He didn’t like people at all, whatsoever. No one else seemed to notice it, too busy bein’ blinded by his smarts or his act. Even the Spangled Asshole got caught in his trap, but I didn’t. Maybe it was ‘cause I was already a monster that I could spot another one. When yer fucked up you notice it when other people are fucked up too and I never liked how he looked at me or at Cap, like he wanted to dissect us to see what made us tick. Never let any of the Commandos spend time alone with him either, because no matter how everyone tried to paint him he was dangerous. He wasn’t right in the head no matter how much he pretended he was.” Bucky knew his eyes were fierce and that his jaw had been set stubbornly. There had been only two arguments he had had with Captain America over the fact that Howard Stark could not be trusted. There was a bitter sort of vindication he felt now, decades later, having been proven right.

“But Tony you’re dangerous and a little unstable but you’re human. You got a soul and you care about people, real people, not ideals or experiments or things like that. Well you do in a way but not in the bad way, not in the way that strips away your humanity. You’re a mad little science gremlin but you’re the good kind of science gremlin. You’re broken but ‘s okay because we’re all broken in this stupid world.” Looking back at Pepper he tried to make himself look fierce and threatening but the gaze she was giving him told him he looked about as threatening as Steve did. Which was not at all.

“Now ya gotta listen ta me Ms. Potts, I know you’re a swell lady. In fact you probably have had to put up with more shit than most people got right to deal with. I am just saying if you break my science gremlin’s heart I will break you, because I have that right now since he made me a mug. Also ‘cause I don’t think anyone’s ever given you that speech ‘cause you’re real swell and upstanding and no one thinks to think about Tony being swell too. But he is, he’s swell, and he’s fucked up but a good thing all the same. Sorta like a kid’s macaroni art. You ain’t sure what the hell you’re looking at but you like it anyway and god help anyone who tries to tell you that it ain’t art. That’s Tony, and I know you see it too. That he’s beautiful incomprehensible macaroni art.”

Pepper looked at him like he had gone somewhere from lost bedraggled kitten to someone who actually understood how the world worked. She glanced at Tony, who had turned red and was trying to focus intensely on getting the broken arm off, and then back at Bucky before taking his still present hand in hers. Her hands had callouses and were a little dry, they were hands of a lady who worked and worked hard and Bucky liked that. Liked people who understood clawing their way up. She smiled at him warmer now, seeing something in him that looked a lot like how Tony looked at him. That there was something really nice worth looking at, which was shit because Bucky wasn’t nice to look at at all.

“I’m glad someone else is looking out for him too. Don’t worry I won’t let the others find out about you and I’ll make sure the housing situation is fixed too. You’re an odd man Bucky Barnes, but I think you’re just what’s needed.”

“Thanks ma’am. Tony’s got a list o’ what I need, just make sure he doesn’t install a ball pit or something while installing the things he thinks I need.”

Bucky heard Tony grumble glaring at both Pepper and Bucky in a way that made Bucky feel like Tony regretted them meeting…but not exactly. Not really. He liked it, knowing that there were people watching his back and having two people team up to cover his six was probably comforting. Though knowing Tony he didn’t want to admit it. In true form he didn’t, instead he muttered a curse and tapped Bucky’s arm.

“I’m going to have to knock you out Barnes.” Tony finally came up with words that would distract Bucky from making a new friend. “Your arm’s internal wiring and structure can’t be dissessmbled easily. In fact it’s going to have to be semi surgery, but not really because I’m not going to be poking around in your flesh and blood innards and more in the roboty bits but it’s going to be long and unpleasant. Still unconscious you is a better you to deal with it. When you wake up you’ll have an arm with a hand and still be the biggest secret I got, then over the next few days to a week we can calibrate it to optimal awesomeness while everyone’s away.”

There was fear that threaded through his entire body at the thought of being unconscious while Tony did things to him. Would he wake up still being Bucky? Would Tony make him the Asset again? He felt his blood pressure spike at the potential but he forced himself to remember. He forced himself to remember that Tony was Tony, not Howard, not Zola, not Pierce not a whole long list of names and faces that still haunted his thoughts. Tony was Tony. Tony was his science gremlin.

“Okay.” The answer was pulled from his teeth and set down before Tony. It was consent, because as fucked up as Bucky was on drugs at the moment he could still give consent. He still had some control even though he had seemingly lost it. “Okay, I trust you. Just…make sure Owen’s okay while I’m under.” Because that was his greatest fear, being unable to help if his kid needed him. If Owen was in trouble and Bucky was out, if Bucky was being taken away, then Owen had almost nothing to protect him. Except Chompy, Chompy would do good but Chompy wouldn’t be enough. Chompy wasn’t a parent, not like Bucky was.

“I’ll take care of him Mr. Barnes.” Pepper reassured him and that made Bucky smile. Because Pepper was probably the best person in the world who could be an impromptu babysitter.

“Thanks.”

Tony came back from the cabinet holding a different kind of vial. He measured out a dose and pricked Bucky’s arm carefully this time, the cheerful madness from earlier had been wiped away leaving something a little more serious in its wake. Bucky smiled, feeling darkness creeping up into his vision as he reached out and patted Tony’s arm. Words were stolen from him as his body accepted whatever narcotic Tony had given him and the last thing he thought before he thought no more was of a tiny boy with his pet dragon and how much he loved him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony interrupts mass and the Avengers meet Inspector Gadget

It would have been mortifying seventy odd years ago to be the disruption in the middle of mass. Granted they hadn’t had cellphones back then and the only reason Bucky would’ve done something to actually disrupt mass would be if something had happened to Steve, but still back then it would have been mortifying. Right now Bucky heard only the first note of Banana Phone before he slipped his hand into his pocket and ended the call. Yes, of course it was likely an emergency because Banana Phone was Stark’s ringtone and Stark was never up this early on a Sunday. Pressing the buttons to mute his phone he slipped his hand back out of his pocket and didn’t even let his expression twitch even as he felt Mrs. Rodriguez start to glare at his back again.

Bucky had just finished taking a sip of the wine when Chompy lashed out, quick as a whip, taking the wafer that had just been proffered to Owen and started chewing on it. The dragon then hacked, smacking his jaws open and closed looking uncomfortable as the wafer sucked all the moisture out of its mouth. Then a determined unamused look came into the golden reptilian eyes as it began to hack.

“Chompy! No! You can’t spit that out it’s Jesus! You can’t spit out Jesus!” Came Owen’s mortified command. Chompy trained as he was stopped trying to cough the wafer out of its mouth but gave Owen a look of utterly betrayal.

Bucky had to take a sharp breath in to keep from laughing, to keep composed even as Father Gabriel looked somewhere between baffled and amused. Owen and Bucky had been coming to Saint Michael’s for several months now, had been attending Mass and occasionally Sunday School without a single incident with Chompy. That was until right now.

And God Bless Father Gabriel’s soul because the man simply grabbed another wafer to hand to Owen with all the dignity a priest could muster. Only for Chompy to lash out again and grab the wafer and add it to the first stuck in his mouth with his mutinous and daring gaze locked onto Father Gabriel. Bucky could see the challenge in Chompy’s eyes, one that said ‘I can eat these things all day so keep ‘em coming asshole’. Owen blinked in despair at his service animal’s insistence that somehow consuming Jesus was going to be _bad_ and Bucky let out a huff of laughter and covered his face with his right hand.

“Father, you switch wafer brands?” Bucky murmured in a low voice, not giving a damn that old Mrs. Rodriguez was glaring at them again for holding up the line.

“Yes. I had to buy some at the store because the sisters are out of town. Is that-“

“Chompy eats anything Owen will have an allergic reaction to.” Bucky interrupted as quietly as he could. Owen was looking forlornly at the wafers, not because he particularly enjoyed the taste of them. Hell no one enjoyed the taste of communion wafers or the way that they stuck to the insides of your mouth like some sort of righteous glue that could only be washed away with wine. But Bucky knew Owen liked the ritual, Owen liked consistency that the Church could give, prayers before meals, someplace to go on Sunday, and the repetitive prayers. There was comfort in that, Bucky could agree. But this was a change in the plan, a change in something that so far had generally been unchangeable to Owen.

“It’s okay Owen, God understands.” Father Gabriel murmured kindly with a smile and tilted his head for Owen to go on and get the wine.

That was why Bucky liked this church. Not just because it was familiar in that bittersweet way that reminded him of the few good things of his childhood. It was because Father Gabriel was kind, he was a good man, one that had a practical way of looking at the world but still hoping for something better for all.

Owen and Bucky were finally making it back towards their pew, Owen’s hands fluttering nervously as he kept glancing at Chompy who hadn’t spat the wafers out but still hadn’t managed to swallow them. When they knelt down Owen gave Bucky a beseeching look and without even a blink Bucky reached over and grabbed Chompy. Keeping the dragon below the line of sight of most of the other members of the church Bucky bent down.

“Open.” He murmured lowly, keeping a firm hold of Chompy with his right hand while his left was held up waiting.

Chompy looked like he wanted to protest, wanted to keep throwing a tantrum because he couldn’t spit out the nasty tasting wafers stuck in his mouth, but finally grumbled and opened his mouth. Bucky stuck his metal fingers inside, carefully scraping wafer off the top of Chompy’s palate.

That was of course the moment when Tony fucking Stark burst into the church in his ironman costume. It was dirty, covered in grease and grime, and dented in several areas. Bucky could only marvel at the fact that Tony was even conscious on a Sunday to make it into a morning mass.

“You! You don’t ignore my phonecalls. There is an emergency, big, bad, potentially apocalyptic. You are our only expert in….what the hell are you doing to Chompy?”

Tony stopped at the edge of the pew and Bucky muttered a curse, his forehead hitting the back of the pew in front of theirs with a resounding thump. Of course he still had his finger stuck in Chompy’s mouth trying to help the dragon with the wafer problem, and even better Tony had just brought the entire congregation’s attention to them.

“He ate the communion wafers and they got stuck so I am unsticking them.”

“Wait he’s allowed communion? I’m not allowed communion but he is?”

Bucky shot Tony a glare, one that held a promise of pain to come.

“Chompy is not technically allowed communion but there wasn’t much of a choice because he stole the wafers from Father Gabriel. It’s Jesus, as Owen remarked earlier, so he can’t spit it out.”

“You know it doesn’t magically tu-“

Bucky stood up, finger removed from Chompy’s mouth. Chompy took only one moment to look utterly disgusted by the fact that the wafers were still there before he swallowed it. Tilting his head apologetically towards Father Gabriel Bucky reached out with his left arm, grabbing Tony’s upper arm and frog marching him out of the sanctuary. Owen and Chompy followed at their heels.

“Talk, _now_.” Bucky bit out, already trying to mentally calculate how many batches of his mother’s oatmeal rasin cookies and rhubarb pie he was going to make at the community bake sale to make up for this particular incident.

“So there was a problem that we didn’t know was a problem until it just came out and kicked our asses. Remember last week’s incident with the whole ‘destroy the base of this evil organization whose name we shall not mention’ and how we all got split up but we thought it was fine because everyone made it to the rendezvous point? Well not everyone made it back. Seems like the evil organization whose name shall not be mentioned had a life decoy model of he who shall not be named made piloted by a very very clever AI annnnnnnnd long story short it just kicked our asses for a few hours until we could subdue it and then we had the nasty realization of what had happened soooooo help.”

Bucky stayed very still for a moment, listening to Tony’s rambling before he took in a deep breath to steady his nerves. Opening his mouth he attempted to give Tony something, maybe a few words to help calm his science gremlin down, maybe something that it wasn’t as bad as it looked.

All that came out instead was a string of Russian that was so foul that Bucky knew the ghosts of the sisters who helped raise him were rising from the graves to come grab his ear and wash his mouth out with soap. It was so foul he was surprised Captain America hadn’t shown up to personally smack him over the head because he was cursing in front of a child. Tony looked startled, because Bucky so far had never switched languages on him so randomly before while Owen was staring at Bucky in horror.

“You can’t say that in a church!”

“You know what he said?” Tony looked at Owen as the ginger shook his head.

“No but I’m pretty sure what he just said was really bad and you’re not supposed to swear in church.”

Bucky took in a deep breath, getting his brain to settle down and focus on the mission. The new mission. Already his mind was going over various tactics, trying to mentally locate the bases that would be able to secure a soldier of Captain’s caliber.

“We’re going to the Tower _now_. I know you have a duplicate of my gear in your lab hidden under the sex toy prototypes. I’m going to hand Owen to Pepper and then you make sure the quinjet is set to go to Europe. You also get speak to the Widow and Hawkeye about the absolute necessity of me meeting with Fury. Between his intel and mine we can hopefully locate a handful of still operating facilities that might have him. And maybe if we hurry this won’t end in a clusterfuck.”

As Bucky spoke he already had begun to pull Owen up and onto his back, making sure his child was secure. Chompy for all the fact he could fly wasn’t fast enough yet to keep up with Ironman yet, so the dragon climbed up and latched itself to Bucky’s chest. When everyone was secured on him he walked to Tony, wrapping his arms around the man’s shoulders and plastering himself against his back. When he was certain everyone was settled properly and that he wouldn’t lose his grip Bucky breathed out a ‘go’.

There was an excited squeal from Owen, because for all the gravity of the situation Owen was a child and Owen loved flying. A few breathless giggle had Bucky at ease, because no matter what happened with this mission he still had someone to come home to, he had someone to fight for. It would be…painful if he had to put Captain America down, but he would put him down if it meant that he could keep Owen safe.

Less than two minutes later they were touching down outside Tony’s living room. Bucky letting go of Tony and placing Chompy then Owen onto the ground. Making sure to keep himself placed directly in front of Owen he let Tony lead the way into the room. It was chaos inside, furniture overturned and broken, dents in the walls, there were several Avengers trying to right the room while others sprawled on the floor not unconscious but currently giving no fucks as they tried to recuperate.

“Honey I’m home and I brought guests!” Came Tony’s cheerful announcement. Pepper was sitting behind the bar looking a little worse for wear and still clad in her pajamas, she glanced at Tony almost ready to make a comment but the sudden stillness in the room made her close her mouth and sigh.

All the remaining Avengers had gotten up, the Widow and Hawkeye had fallen into fighting stances, Wilson looked like he wished Satan had walked in through the door instead, Bruce was staring at Bucky like he was debating on whether the Hulk should be brought out a second time, and Thor had picked up mjolnir. Bucky simply gave them all an unimpressed and utterly condescending look, not quite tensing up for a fight yet but not completely relaxed either. What broke the tense silence was Owen’s gasp, the little ginger darted around Tony and quickly made his way to Pepper.

“Pepper! You’re hurt! Who hurt you?” The recently turned eleven year old scrambled up the bar stools and onto the bar itself, green eyes focused on his friend. Because that’s what Owen saw Pepper as, his friend. “Uncle can do…do very very bad things to make them sorry that they hurt you. Or he could do the face, the face works too. Do you need Chompy to kiss it better? Chompy gives good kisses but not as good as Uncle but I think Tony might punch Uncle if Uncle tries to give you a kiss to feel better. Also Chompy tried to spit out Jesus.”

Pepper looked at Owen and smiled, relaxing as she let Owen’s chatter wash over her. “Don’t worry some bandaids and a Chompy kiss will make it better. Tony already made sure that who hurt me can’t do so again so your Uncle Bucky won’t have to do anything.”

The Avengers had turned to watch the exchange. There was even an almost smile on Natasha’s lips as Owen leaned over and whispered nowhere near low enough for everyone not to hear it.

“They know his real name?”

“Yes.”

By that time Chompy had come over, service vest a lovely shade of blue with a cream colored flower pinned to it matching the bow that had lovingly been placed on Chompy’s magenta and violet feathered head. When Chompy jumped onto the bar Owen began to go through the handful of pockets on the vest, pulling out bandaids and alcohol swabs. With all the care of a child who knew exactly what he was doing he took out the swaps and carefully wiped at a few cuts on Pepper’s face. The bandaids were of course Ironman themed and were put on with the same gravity that he had seen adults use when fixing wounds. When he was done Owen looked at Chompy. “Give Pepper a kiss.” The baby dragon moved forward, pecking his muzzle against the bandaid like a woodpecker and made a little attempt at a kissy noise.

“So Stark are you going to explain why you just brought the Winter Soldier to the Tower?” The Widow’s voice was dry and she had not relaxed fully even in the presence of Owen. She out of all of the others knew just how easily a child could be turned into a weapon.

“Sergeant Barnes and I have an arrangement. He gives me intel on the various shadowy organizations that like to threaten world peace, occasionally assassinates people who are planning to destroy major cities, and generally lets me know of the people we, the Avengers, need to keep an eye on then I pay him and spend Thursday night at his place eating delicious food and watching tv. I know you’ve been digging into my files Natasha trying to figure out who is my source for all the wealth of information I’ve been getting since Shield imploded, well now you know who Inspector Gadget is.”

“Stark-“ Wilson began, eying Bucky like a bomb about to explode.

“No. I know your arguments and _no_. He’s here because I asked him to be. He’s here to help us get Steve out of whatever Hydra hellhole they’ve put him in. He’s here because he is our expert in Hydra. So you can be angry at me all you want for keeping this secret but he’s been helping us out a whole lot more than Fury has recently. Oh by the way, you need to call him up and tell him he’s going to need to meet with Sergeant Barnes because his intel and Barnes’ intel should help us locate Steve. Now someone is going to help me ready up the quinjet because we’re going to Europe in about twenty so get your shit together and meet us there.” Tony shut down the other Avengers, frustration seeping into his voice. With a dramatic huff he stomped towards the stairs.

Bucky looked at the Avengers looking back at him now and shrugged. Walking over to the bar not caring that Wilson and the Widow were staring at him like he was still a threat (which he was) in his button down shirt and slacks while the rest were trying to make up their minds as to what he was supposed to be. When he got close enough to Owen he pressed at kiss to the fluffy ginger hair and gave him a hug. “I’m gonna be gone for a while kotyonok and I don’t think I’m going to be able to call. Please be good for Pepper and remember that I love you and I will miss you.”

Owen turned around in the hug, wrapping his arms around Bucky and holding him tight. “I’ll miss you too Uncle Bucky. Love you lots.”

“I know. Now I gotta go get my gear.” Bucky smiled down at his kid, because that’s what Owen was now. His kid in everything but blood. Petting Owen’s head one last time Bucky pulled away. He didn’t even need a deep breath to steady himself, letting the warmth fade from his face as he looked over at the Avengers. He didn’t speak to them as he walked out of the living room, heading directly for the stairs that went to Tony’s personal lab.

Jarvis let him in and Bucky knew exactly where he had to go. In the far corner where Tony had not so discreetly put the sex toys he had started creating out, Bucky knelt and began to rummage through them. Six inches down in the rather large box of prototypes Bucky started to find his gear. Without even a grimace he began to pull it out.

“Why are you helping us?” Came Widow’s voice from behind him.

“Does it matter?” Bucky replied, focusing more on finding his right combat boot. It always ended up this way, only finding one boot and searching for at least ten minutes to find the second on. A curse that had followed him since the European Theatre.

“It does when it’s you.”

“I could say the same thing, Natalia Romanova thirteenth little girl in the red Red Room.” Bucky shot back.

“How…”

“It doesn’t matter does it? How I know. The only thing that matters, Natalia, is that I am not doing this out of sentimentality. Not because that would make me weak, in fact it would likely make me even more dangerous to Hydra if I truly gave a damn about Captain America. I am doing this because I know how dangerous I am, I know how deadly, I know how much chaos and damage I could sow if I truly wanted to. I am a weapon of mass destruction. Whatever capabilities I have I do not doubt Captain America could find a way to top them in every way if he is made into a monster too. As I am particularly fond of not living in a Hydra controlled world then I will make certain that Captain America will not become the monster I am.” Finally locating his second boot Bucky began to strip. He was efficient as he shucked off his clothes, folding them neatly and hanging them on the side of the toy bin. He was even more efficient putting his gear on.

The Widow watched as he went to another corner, opening up a locker and taking out a duffle bag filled with weapons. This was going to be a mission that was going to require some measure between stealth and a swath of red being cut across Europe as he searched for Captain America.

Bypassing the stairs to the living room Bucky punched in the code for the Avengers only elevator. The door opened and the Widow slipped inside to stand next to him as he pressed the button for the launch pad.

“Stark really does trust you.” She commented, eyeing him warily still.

“He does and I give him the same amount of trust in return.” He didn’t glance over at her as the elevator came to a stop. “If he hadn’t asked I would not have officially joined in this venture and instead would have gone on my own. When we find the Captain I hope that you will thank him for calling in this favor.”

When the doors opened Bucky walked to the quinjet. Taking the seat closest to the pilot’s chair Bucky folded himself there quietly. He did not want to interact with the others, he in fact did not want to be near the others except perhaps Tony but Tony was piloting and therefore could not be a semi distraction to the fact that they had multiple hours stuck in a tiny metal box that could lead to the death of most of them should it explode.

It likely would have almost been peaceful if someone hadn’t decided to gather their courage and sit down next to him. Bucky opened a single eye to glare at the intruder, Wilson, before shutting it. Wilson didn’t even deign a verbal warning in his mind, if he wanted to poke the dangerous assassin then he was going to have to deal with the fallout if he pressed the wrong button.

“Hey I wanted to say thanks.” Wilson stared out and Bucky didn’t open his eyes, didn’t want to encourage the man to keep talking. “For doing this. It’d mean a lot to Steve to know you were coming to bring him home.”

“Steve is dead.” Bucky reminded Wilson.

“He isn’t. Just becau-“

Bucky opened his eyes, knowing that anger burned inside him so coldly it burned. He knew he showed it, show the rage that was there and even a little bit of the pain.

“Captain America is not Steve Rogers.” Bucky enunciated the words clearly, making sure that the syllables were nothing but carefully produced so Wilson could in fact understand them. Because no one seemed to understand them, ever, though he had never spoken them aloud for another to hear save for the time when he visited Peggy Carter. “Captain America is an ideal, something that is no longer human because it cannot be human because to be human is to fail to live to the ideals. The serum took a man and made him an ideal, the ideal is not human, Captain America is not human. Steve Rogers committed suicide in an attempt to become a better man, he instead became something else that does not live in this reality. Because Captain America sees the world as it should be, as it could be, just as he sees people in a way that they could be but not actually are and never can be. Then there is the despair he feels when he realizes that the world cannot be what he wants and sometimes when it gets too much he keeps trying to commit suicide. I don’t, can’t, love Captain America because that’s asking me to love someone who was born out of someone hating themselves so much they’d rather go an experimental procedure or die than continuing to be who they were. So do _not_ make this into me suffering sentimentality and going to rescue my long lost love and best friend. This is me making the judgment call that you are all too incompetent at your jobs to notice a fucking robot in your midst for a week and therefore probably can’t find the facility that currently has him before he is unmade. As I told the Widow, I currently enjoy living in a world that Hydra is not controlling.”

Wilson got up giving Bucky a look that Bucky didn’t care to try and understand. Instead he closed his eyes and forced himself to go to the silent place in his mind, blocking out the world around him, and sliding into where he no longer existed as a human. If any of the others tried to engage him in conversation he did not know and did not care. He had to keep calm and he would do so because the mission was more important than his feelings. The irony did not escape him as he slowly sunk into the welcoming darkness that Captain America had the dubious honor of being the Mission twice in a single lifetime.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky meets Fury and works with Thor. There's also semi graphic depictions of torture in this chapter.

“You sent a Life Model Decoy to speak with me Fury?” Bucky can’t help the condescending Russian accent that colors his words as he stares at the robot in front of him. It had taken only one second for him to pick out how utterly not real the man was and it made him wonder just how well trained he had made Widow.

“Can’t be too careful with brain fucked assassins.” The robot shoots back, a live feed then instead of something preprogrammed.

“Then why do you have a Widow clutched so close to your chest?” Bucky doesn’t care about the people watching him, the Avengers, as he sprawls into the small Parisian café chair with all the grace and languid ease of a predatory cat. He neither smiles nor lets his face warm into anything resembling human when dealing with Fury. “Unless you don’t trust her as much as you want her to believe sometimes. Tricky, I know, trying to figure out how much you see is real and what was what the Red Room created. You are a careful man and I don’t need your body directly here. I need your mind because out of this shit show of heroes you collected you’re the only one with enough practicality to not keep everything _shiny_.”

“We could have had a conference Barnes if all you needed was a chat.” The decoy was glaring at him but Bucky simply returned it. There was another edge to his look, one that had utter disappointment written all over his face, one that said he had expected better than what he had gotten, and that he would maybe one day forgive Fury for his transgressions because God would want him to forgive. There were other things written on his face, things that had Wilson muttering ‘goddamn’ while Fury stared at Bucky.

“I am feeling like I have just made one of the biggest fucking mistakes of my life. I am so goddamn ashamed right now that I feel like I should apologize to you and never do this again. I feel the need to repent. I feel the need to repent and I do not like feeling the need to repent over stupid little shit like this. Where did you learn how to do that?”

“Nuns.” Because it was the truth. He had half grown up in that stupid orphanage, grown up under the eyes of the nuns who ran it. No one, no one knew how to wordlessly communicate just what you had done wrong like a nun did. No one could put a stop to stupid ideas like a nun could. So Bucky had spent hours of his childhood standing on a box to look into the crappy little mirror in the bathroom practicing his expressions so he could channel the sisters perfectly. So he could just stand and stare at the back of Steve’s head, knowing that Steve would feel it, knowing that Steve would back down sometimes if he stared hard enough. ‘cause Bucky didn’t start those fights, not really, but he sure as hell always finished them. Going out with Steve was like walking a tiny little dog that had way too many aggression issues and not enough sense to live. Bucky had had to have Steve wrangling down to an artform by the time both of them had hit their mid teens, what Bucky had learned was that apparently Steve wrangling was the hardest wrangling on Earth to do and if Bucky could get Steve goddamn Rogers to do something he could get just about anything to do something, including cats.

“ _Nuns_? You have now become one of the scariest motherfuckers I’ve ever met.” Fury praised him. Which almost made Bucky smile, because the people he had killed meant nothing to Fury (not really), his infiltration skills meant nothing, his red room training was only something to be mildly concerned about, but the fact he could guilt trip without saying a single word was apparently the line of ‘you have now become scary’. Bucky nearly preened because being labelled ‘scary motherfucker’ because Fury was frankly hard to impress.

“Well if you ever want to know the perfect leash for Captain America I suggest you find a nun willing to guilt him into submission. Your pyschologists ain’t gonna do shit for him, they’re doctors and Cap won’t admit it but he hates ‘em.”

“What about you?”

“My Captain America wrangling days are over.” Bucky said firmly, not letting Fury or any of the others find any wriggle room in his tone. “That’s your one free piece of information considering that if I know Cap, he was probably taken willingly and didn’t know about the Life Decoy Model. Which means he was being stupid and now we have to rescue him.”

Leaning in on the table Bucky stared at the robot that looked like Fury. “There are ten bases in Europe that can hold a super soldier, four of which had the tech for mind wiping. I know general locations but I don’t know activity, power useage, or whether they are operational or not. None of them were identified in the information dump from Shield so their existence is still considered secure. Now I am going to write down the bases and you can tell me which ones you know about and which ones you know are active.”

The napkin wasn’t particularly the most covert piece of paper Bucky had ever used, but he used it anyway. Without letting the others see, the Avengers who were hovering close enough by to try and intervene should Bucky decide to murder Fury’s LDM but not close enough to be in the café. Still he slid it over when he was done, watching Fury look over the intel. The man didn’t give away anything, then again it wasn’t a man at all who he was looking at was he.

“You only wrote down nine.” Fury pointed out as he scanned the intel.

“These are the only ones you would know about.” Bucky replied coolly.

“Now how can you be sure about that?”

“I can, now do any of these bases hit your radar as being active?”

Fury looked at Bucky as if he was sick and tired of Bucky’s bullshit. That Bucky was wasting his goddamn time with this. Bucky stared back, his face blank as he waited for Fury to decide if he wanted to help out or not because the only one wasting time here was Fury.

“A couple on here have popped up as being still in use.” 

With a swift nod Bucky stood up. “Then I’m heading out with Thor. You can decide what you wish to do with your bases when it regards to extracting the Captain, if you find him and get him out ping Thor otherwise we’re operating in radio silence.”

Walking down the street he carefully tapped Thor’s arm as he passed him, a predetermined indicator that he wanted Thor to follow him. The others hovered in their spots, blending into the crowd and watching almost anxiously as Thor waited a minute before following Bucky’s lead. He wound the god of thunder through the streets of Paris, not quite playing a game of cat and mouse, but eventually leading him to one of the last safe houses Bucky owned.

Keeping the door unlocked after he walked inside Bucky moved to the living room and sat on a chair, waiting for his tail to come. It wasn’t long until Thor walked in, Thor knowing to lock the door behind them before wandering over to where Bucky sat.

“You requested that I follow you?”

“Mmmhmmm sit down.” Bucky gestured at the couch. Settling in the chair Bucky leaned forward, resting his arms on his legs as he stared at Thor. “You are the only one among the Avengers besides Tony I trust to not stab me in the back or just leave me stranded. Your honor is well known to me, actually Tony bitches to me about it all the time, and its that honor I’m putting my trust in. Because I need to trust you ‘cause the plan I have is insane.” Scrubbing his face with his left hand he wondered why god sought fit to put him in these situations before remembering it was him and god loved spiting him with a childish glee.

“There are ten bases in Europe that can deprogram a person from scratch and four can contain a super soldier reasonably well. I gave Fury a list of nine for him to decide which he and the others are going to hit, how and when. They might find the Captain but I doubt it and as such I am letting them be our distraction. Fury probably already knows this because I refused to give him the final base, but the final base is the one that I’d bet my life that the Captain is in. I am going to actually. What do either of you know about the Red Room?”

Thor’s brows only furrowed together in faint confusion. The god looked to be searching his memory for any reference to the organization, knowing from the tone of Bucky’s voice that they were bad.

“If what you speak of is not about a room with red décor then I am an unaware of what it is.”

Bucky glanced at his hands fortifying himself before looking at Thor straight in the eyes. “Ya know that I’m an assassin? Well the Red Room made me. They made Natasha too. They’ve made a number of operatives like us, taking out our humanity, shredding it, and putting something else in too. They’re officially only affiliated with tha KGB, officially decommissioned too. Thing is organizations like that don’t disappear when folk want them to, in fact they go down deep and stay like a sickness that no one can cure. Red Room had ties with Hydra and when the Union collapsed they became more involved, actually how the Red Room survived was because they traded me to Hydra. Something the Red Room never wanted to do but had to if they wanted to continue on with their mission. They’re evil inhumane bastards and besides breaking people and rebuilding them they also instill apathy in their victims.”

The words were being pulled out of him because they needed to be, because he needed for Thor to get the entire picture of what was going to happen and what Bucky needed from him.

“I remembered who I was several times during my service to them. They’d take my memories, burn them outta me, but then…days, weeks, months later they would return. I could have escaped, maybe, but back then what was the fuckin’ point? By then I woulda been considered a war criminal, woulda been locked up, or maybe used by my country yet again to do horrible things. I didn’t have a home, didn’t have family, and if I defected, if I ran, then the contract I made with the Red Room would be void. I’d be letting my friends be put in danger because I couldn’t hold up to an agreement I made. I’m a terrible man, Thor, will never sugar coat it or lie about it. Always have been, selfish to boot.”

“Why is this important?”

“’cause you need to know that I’m going back to a place I never want to go back to in the worst possible manner.” Bucky kept himself from moving, kept himself from twitching and betraying how unpleasant this was going to be. “Tomorrow we’re going to Moscow and I am going to separate from you. I’m gonna wander around dazed and stumble into an old safe house that was designated for emergencies when missions failed. Not that I ever had to use it before I went to be Hydra’s toy, but it’s a built in failsafe. Then I am going to sit and wait to be picked up, they’re going to take me Thor and I’m gonna let them. You are gonna have to follow me to the base, you’re gonna let me get tortured and beaten and they’re gonna bring out the Captain if they got him there and they’re gonna make him watch me get tortured. When they bring him to me I’ll give you a signal and you come in and you get us the fuck out and an added bonus if you can destroy everything that’d be real swell.”

Thor stared at Bucky like he was insane, which was refreshing somewhat, to have someone realize how horrible the plan was.

“Can we not simply infiltrate the base and rescue the Captain?”

“First sign of a break in and all prisoners get terminated and all data gets wiped. I’m hoping that with my link up to Jarvis.” Bucky waved his metal hand to show what was connected to Jarvis. “That while those evil bastards are makin’ my insides outsides Jarvis can get intel for you lot to deal with. Jarvis will be the first attempt also to reach you to get us out, but if that fails then come bustin’ in when you hear bullets flying and maybe an explosion.”

“Why am I the only other you brought along for this. Would you not feel better if Tony were here as well?”

Bucky closed his eyes. “I would feel safer, maybe, if Tony were here. He’s my friend and I know…I _know_ that I probably don’t deserve that sort of thing after all the horrible shit I’ve done knowingly but he does make me feel safe. I know that he wouldn’t leave me with the Red Room, that he’d kill me first before they could take me back, and that is something not a lot of folk are willing to do for friends. But he is my friend and if this goes sour, if instead of being rescued you get captured, you’re the only one who I’d place good money on not being able to be broken. You don’t think like a human or a super human, your body doesn’t react to stimuli like a human or superhuman, you’ll be safest from what the Red Room can do. Everyone else would be torn apart.”

Bucky jerked when he felt a hand grasping his knee and squeezing it firmly. Not enough to hurt, but enough to ground him in reality.

“You are being very brave and I can see how much you do not wish to go. I swear I will not let them keep you in their clutches longer than is necessary. I simply have one more question though.”

“Yea?”

“Won’t they suspect something if you come to them now so soon after the Captain got captured?”

Bucky knew he was smiling an ugly smile, one filled with self-hatred and bitter memories. It was like looking into an open wound that never healed, would never heal, it only got covered up and hidden by layers and layers of misdirection and lies.

“They’re likely expecting me. It was never a secret to them that I loved Steve Rogers more than my own life, that Steve Rogers was my life. They just never dug deep enough, never asked the right questions to show them how I differentiated Steve and Cap. They know I’d follow Steve Rogers to the end of the world and that I’d have done anything in my power to be near him and that I’m trained well enough to know who would have him or if they didn’t have him who could find him. They also know that I’ve not touched the Avengers, that I’ve never been seen with them, that I am not affiliated with them or the remnants of Shield and they’d expect that if I showed up in front of you guys that you’d take me down and that I’d know that too. So it would leave me with only a couple of choices if I wanted to keep following Steve.” A bitter snort of laughter escaped him. “You know they probably would have really liked having Cap, that they’re still planning on making him into a Winter Soldier, but I think this is their and Hydra’s way of drawing me out into the open.”

Thor nodded again, looking at Bucky sadly as he kept his hand on Bucky’s knee. It wasn’t pity, it was empathy of a sort, it was such a rare thing to see in another’s face directed at him. Especially when the person had a vague idea of who and what he was.

“You have my support.”

“Thanks.” Bucky murmured.

The night was a sleepless affair for Bucky, opening up his arm and giving it some superficial damage, damage that would make it seem like he hadn’t been able to get proper repairs for awhile. He fiddled with things, making sure his link to Jarvis was hidden but active, taking a knife to his hair and cutting the ends sloppily. He made certain that his once impeccable gear had dirt ground into it, that there was blood in spots, grass stains, and all the little details he could think of that would make it seem like he had kept his gear in functioning condition but had cared little for the aesthetics of it. Seams were frayed and Bucky even made sure there were cuts and a bullet hole or two to make it seem truly authentic.

When the morning came Bucky gave Thor a grimacing smile and waved him towards the breakfast he had made for the Asgardian. A giant plate of French toast and bacon sat with a fruit compote on the side should Thor wish to sweeten his toast. Thor looked at the offering in awe before bounding to the table to start devouring the food. A half smile quirked Bucky’s lips as he brought over a mug of coffee and placed it by the god who praised him for his proweress in the kitchen unreservedly.

Afterwards Bucky handed Thor his tickets for the train as well as his new passport with a completely new identity, explaining that they were now going to be separated but not because Bucky had given Thor every scrap of information he could on where Bucky would likely be at any given time. Thor knew of where the Red Room was located now, and that he should stay close, be close, and ready to come in hammer at the ready as soon as Bucky called for him.

The trip to Moscow was uneventful allowing Bucky to start sinking into a mindset he hadn’t worn in a while. He peeled off his humanity like clothes, took all inklings of free will and placed them in a box deep in his mind, he slipped into the space that he had needed to survive the decades he had. He took away his worth, his meaning, and left only a ghost in its place.

By the time the Asset walked the streets of Moscow, Bucky Barnes no longer technically existed in the Asset’s head. When the Asset walked into the safe house there was nothing near the surface that resembled a human. He was a weapon, without thought, without direction, save for his mission. The mission was all that he was and all that he would be and it was in this he had failed, though what he had failed was uncertain.

It took six hours of waiting before the Asset was collected for debrief and reset. Guided into the vehicle and shackled like an animal to the seat there were no questions given to the Asset to answer. He had not been spoken to, the Asset was not to be spoken to, and so he did not talk. Silence reigned in the back of the armored car so thick that it was likely choking the other passengers but the Asset ignored it. This was nothing new or strange, it always happened when the Asset was set with people. People did not like sitting with a weapon as sharp and deadly as the Asset.

When the Asset was taken into the facility he was marched to a room. A room he knew too well to not fear. It was simple enough with its red walls and red table and red chairs. The debriefing room, the room he always was taken to before he was tested and recalibrated or punished depending on what happened in the mission.

A man sat in the chair already, his hair steely gray and his glasses obscuring his eyes. The Asset was made to sit across from the man, the shackles still firmly in place.

“ _Why have you come back after a year of hiding?_ ” The man asked in Russian. His voice was calm, almost like asking the Asset to describe the weather.

“ _Steve Rogers, Codename Captain America, Mission Status: Failed._ ” The Asset intoned.

“ _What was your mission, Asset?_ ”

“ _Steve Rogers, Codename Captain America_ ”

“ _Specifics Asset. What were your mission parameters?_ ”

“ _Steve Rogers, Codename Captain America._ ”

There was a sigh as the man looked at the Asset in disappointment.

“ _You’ve been away too long, Asset. Your programming is failing. I told the Americans that you were not fit for their use, and it is not entirely your fault. Still you have taken too long to report back in and while I am certain you know that we have Captain America you still failed in your mission. You will be punished for your failure and then we will fix what the Americans broke._ ”

The Asset did not flinch in fear when he heard that he was to be punished. It was expected for he had failed and failure was unacceptable. He did not wince at the knowledge of the mind wipe, for he was the Asset and weapons always had to be cleaned and maintained before being put back on the shelf. He stood as he was bid to and calmly followed the gray haired man to another red room. When he was told to lie down on the metal table he did so, letting someone remove his restraints only to shackle him to the table.

They tore off his clothes, cutting them away and not caring if they got his skin. They poured salt water down his throat, making him gag, choke, and vomit before hosing him off and repeating it again and again. They took each finger and broke it, moving upwards and breaking the bones in his arm, moving over to fracture his ribs, and sliding down to break his legs. It would cripple another, it would have made them unable to function after this when they healed, but the Asset was not another. It had happened before, bones being broken and rebroken, until pain was all he knew all he expected. Then it happened, with most of his bones broken and bruises blooming on his skin, with blood slowly dripping onto the floor in an almost calming rhythmic patter they brought him.

Steve stood before him, blue eyes widened in horror, breath coming out in painful wheezes as he stared at the mess in front of him. Five four maybe a hundred pounds with dirty blond hair the Asset had not seen this man in decades. This man who had bruises of his own, but who had the eyes that hadn’t yet seen war, hadn’t yet changed completely into the not Steve. No, for some inexplicable reason instead of Captain America Steve Rogers was here and that changed everything.

“3…” The Asset began to wheeze a broken moan of anguish coming from him. “325…32557…32557038.”

There was no flicker of recognition on Steve’s face at the number. Instead he reacted to the Asset’s voice, paling more, breathing coming out harsher and shallower. Steve’s mouth opened and closed, words wanting to come out but unable to, instead a high pitched whine of fear escaped. Escape first to be exact, because the next noise was a growl, a snarl so fierce and animalistic that it began to summon Bucky.

Pain slammed into him, agony and fire, and god how he wanted to scream. His throat was raw, his entire body bared and broken before his best friend who looked ready to either keel over or murder every single person in the room with his bare hands still bound in metal cuffs. Steve kicked the guard holding him, wriggling free of his grasp and coming over to where Bucky was strapped down.

“Bucky? Buck? Oh god what did they do to you?”

Bucky’s answer was stalled by the mercifully timeful entrance of Thor. The god took one look at Bucky and Steve before his gaze hardened into something dark and furious. There was no gentleness in the god now, all that was there was righteous fury. Demolishing the forces quickly Thor came over to the table.

Steve didn’t hesitate to throw himself between Thor and Bucky. It didn’t matter that Steve was smaller than Thor, bruised up, and in the middle of an asthma attack. Bucky knew that if Thor tried to take a single step closer Steve would attempt to maul him, an almost laughably silly move considering the differences in height and weight at the moment but Steve…well Steve was sorta like a honey badger.

“You are very small now Captain.” Thor pointed out looking somewhere between puzzled and amused.

“Yer big, don’t matter though because you aren’t _touching_ Bucky.”

“I am here to help.”

“I don’t believe you.” Steve spat out, not caring for niceties at the moment.

“Steve….Stevie he’s here to help. Promise.” Bucky wheezed out, his voice ragged and rough. “Let him help us Steve. We won’t make it out without him.”

Steve looked like he was going to argue. Hell if it was under different circumstances he probably would, but he looked back to see Bucky’s broken bared body and grimaced. Impotent rage flared up in Steve’s eyes and if looks could kill the entire base would be a smouldering pile of ash.

“Fine but if you try anything funny and I will murder you.” Steve promised much to Thor’s amusement and surprise.

“I doubt you would be able to in your current state Captain. Though I will keep it in mind for when we fix you.” Thor said cheerfully as if being threatened by friends wasn’t a new thing. Honestly Bucky mused foggily it probably wasn’t. The god didn’t wait to step around Steve heading to the table where Bucky was laid out. The god frowned thoughtfully before breaking all the restraints holding Bucky down. “You need medical attention.”

Bucky cracked a bloody smile. “Ya wanna play doctor with me big guy?”

Thor looked surprised and huffed out a laugh while Steve made a pained noise. “Really Buck, you really are flirting with a guy while you’re naked and beat to shit? Why am I friends with you?”

“Because I’m pretty and can cook. ‘sides if I’m already naked then there’s not much work ta do.” Bucky quipped and his heart flipped in his chest because god it was Steve. It really was, whatever the Red Room had done had given him back Steve. But Steve wouldn’t stay, couldn’t stay.

“You’re stupid.”

“Nah you got all the stupid with you right now Stevie.” Bucky closed his eyes, willing himself not to cry. The pain didn’t matter, not really. It was something else that tore his already broken heart to pieces. “When I’m better we’re gonna have words, lots and lots of words.”

“Friend I must move you. It will hurt but it will be necessary to get you to safety and healers.” Thor spoke as he gently lifted Bucky up and off the table. Bucky twitched, wanting to make a noise, wanting to cry out, but having it all catch in his throat and stay there. He was cradled against Thor like a child, held in his arms like the slightest movement would break him. Which wasn’t too far off the mark at this point.

Bucky felt Thor shift him in his grasp as he made a point to grab Steve as well. The world began to go muddy, swirling darkness overtaking him as Thor swung his hammer and took off.

“You’re gonna be okay Buck. I promise.”

“Don’t make a promise ya can’t keep Stevie.” Bucky mumbled slipping further into his own mind.

“Don’t tell me what promises I can and cannot keep Buck.” Steve growled. “No one’s gonna touch you like that again and if you try to argue with me I will make you regret it. So you just shut up…shut up and let me do my job and keep your stupid head where it should be.”

Bucky’s eyes slipped closed his breathing ragged and painful even as he finally began to drop into a blissful oblivion. His body went lax and limp in Thor’s arms and the last thing Bucky heard before he heard no more was Steve’s panicked voice ordering Bucky to hold on.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve Rogers is a foul mouthed honey badger and Bucky Barnes is still very broken

“Stay the fuck away from him.”

Was the first thing Bucky heard as he started swimming towards consciousness. Jesus Mary and Joseph he felt like shit, but feeling like shit was nothing compared to knowing Steve was fucking pissed off and about to maul someone and the chances of his mauling someone and them being an innocent bystander who got too close to Bucky when he was down was high enough that Bucky had to open his crusted over eyes and look to see what the situation was and how he could salvage it.

First thing that caught his attention was that Steve was being held back by a dame. Right honestly that was the only thing that caught his attention and kept it, not even the fella bending over him had a chance of even hitting Bucky’s radar now. With a snarl Bucky was up and lunging towards the woman with murder in his eyes, because dame or no, nobody touched Steve like that. He got halfway through the lunge before he was tackled back and pain exploded everywhere. The pain was indescribable, familiar in a haunting way, but overwhelming for a moment. His vision went black and he heard a scream of animalistic fury but it wasn’t him. He couldn’t scream, his throat was raw and he tasted blood in his mouth but screaming wasn’t an option. Screaming was never an option anymore when it came to pain.

“ _Stevie_.” Was though, it came out like a whine but it was ripped from his very soul. It was gasping and raw and he knew blood was dripping from his lips but he didn’t care, there was only one thing he wanted in this world and it wasn’t for the pain to stop. “ _Stevieee_.”

“Bucky! Buck it’s gonna be okay. Don’t you dare get any closer or I will rip yer fuckin’ testicles out through yer throat.” And it was the little things that warmed Bucky’s heart, like Steve’s outright abandonment of social pleasantries when he was truly pissed and on a rampage. Granted most of the times those rampages ended up with Bucky having to have Steve’s six til he exhausted his rage on whatever injustice was going down (because Steve was an angry little fucker and needed to let it out so he didn’t melt down). Right now Bucky was pretty sure the injustice was his current treatment and in his physical state he wouldn’t be much help watching Steve’s back, but he’d do it because that’s what he did. He watched Steve’s back.

“Woah man I am not going to hurt Bucky. I am a medical professional and I am going to try and help him. He’s been hurt real bad and he needs some care and he isn’t going to get it in a timely manner if you keep throwing a temper tantrum and distract me.”

“I promise that Sam will not hurt your friend Captain.”

Captain…Captain…Oh sweet mother of. Bucky jackknifed into a sitting position, clenching his teeth and ignoring the cold sweat he was breaking in to and understood what had happened. Steve was there, Steve, his Steve was there and was struggling against the Widow for all he was worth. Sam was crouched near him, close enough to be the one who had tackled him back onto the floor of the quinjet. Thor was off to the side looking earnest and troubled, Banner was sitting at the far end of the jet trying to not get involved and Bucky could not see Hawkeye or Tony.

“I don’t trust you much more than them ‘cause you let Buck get hurt. If you could go bustin’ in there at any time you wanted why didn’t you get in there before they started breakin’ his bones?”

“He submitted himself to the torture, Captain, because it was the only way he knew how to rescue you from your prison. He was the one who knew where you had been taken and by whom, he knew that if we attempted to rescue you directly from your cell they would have killed you before we got to you. He knew his own limits and knew he would survive their treatment. I did not wish to see him hurt.”

Bucky panted reaching out his metal arm towards Steve and making a grabbing motion. Words were not particularly forthcoming at this moment but he telegraphed who he wanted. Sam watched with a frown as he saw Steve’s renewed vigor in trying to get out of Natasha’s hold and to Bucky’s side.

“Nat, let him go.”

“The Red Room had him Sam, we don’t know who is there.” Nat argued, not even winded at having to hold an angry wriggling Steve Rogers.

“Pretty sure that whoever is behind the wheel in Barnes’ brain wants Steve close and if he tries something we’ll stop him.”

“It’s not Barnes who I’m worried about.” Natasha sighed, releasing her grip on Steve. Steve scrambled forward without any hint of grace and moved to where he could kneel by Bucky’s head. Bucky smiled happily, because this was Steve, awkward and ungainly with slightly too big hands and feet and a crooked spine with wheezy lungs and goddamn stupid heart. This was the Steve who was always the most beautiful to Bucky, because he was human and imperfect and still kept on walking with his head held high. Those hands were gentle as they carded through Bucky’s hair, petting him in the way that Steve never did in front of strangers because it had been dangerous back then. Now Steve was still tense, still worried that something bad would happen, but his instincts to comfort Bucky were overriding even his usual self-preservation instincts.

“Hey Buck.”

“Missed you Stevie.” Bucky moaned, metal fingers clutching into the slightly too big t-shirt that they had given Steve. “Missed ya so goddamn much.”

“It’s been awhile?” Steve asked in a whisper, shuffling over. Bucky saw the moment that Steve decided he just didn’t fucking care what the other people in the jet thought, he lifted up Bucky’s head and moved so when he put it down Bucky’s head was pillowed on Steve’s thighs. “’cause the last thing I remember before waking up in tha cell was getting ready for a double date at the Stark Expo.”

The confession broke Bucky’s heart to hear, knowing that he visibly grimaced as he twisted in discomfort as Wilson began to carefully examine the breaks in Bucky’s bones. It was easier to blame it on the physical pain as opposed to the emotional one he felt. Steve’s hands tried to soothe him, god he knew Steve was trying, but all it did was tear at the little pieces of his heart. Because god this was all that he wanted, he wanted his Stevie back, the guy he could trust to never let him down, the guy who had taken his heart before Bucky was old enough to realize hearts could be taken and he hadn’t ever given it back. Not even when Bucky had tried to pry it from the gloved fingers of Captain Fucking America.

“Been a real long time Stevie.” Bucky gritted out.

“Ho-“ Steve began to ask, began to question except he was cut off.

“Long long time Stevie.” Bucky rasped and he smiled a heartbroken sort of thing that didn’t hide any of the gaping wounds in his soul. Steve choked a little at its sight, gentle fingers clenching hard for a moment in Bucky’s hair and tugging before Steve breathed out shakily and forcibly relaxed his own grip to start petting Bucky again. “I’m real sore at ya buddy. Real real sore. If I wasn’t so glad ta see ya I’d fuckin’ punch ya.”

“What’d I do?” Steve wasn’t petulant, though it almost sounded like it. He was curious, Bucky could tell it, because he had the annoyed curiosity going on. Bucky had only hit him a handful of times during all the years this Steve could remember, and each and every one of those times Steve had done something so stupid that it either nearly killed him or Bucky. So Bucky knew, Bucky knew Steve wanted to know what he had done to piss Bucky off.

“How about we save those touching moments for when your bff isn’t lying naked on the floor of an airplane with more fractures than you can count on your hands and toes surrounded by people who generally don’t like him?” Tony interrupted, because Tony was good like that, digging him out of holes sometimes. “Because I am an emotionally challenged individual and have the collective social awareness of a tank of sea monkeys and even I know that’s not a discussion you want begrudging allies to hear. But good news my super sexy soviet, I have the happy drugs.”

Bucky wheezed out a laugh as Tony swaggered to his side wearing a pair of Hawaiian shorts and an ACDC t-shirt, giving not a single fuck in the world as he knelt down with a syringe full of obnoxiously blue liquid. Steve on the other hand glared, his body tensing.

“What’s that?”

“Drugs, good drugs, drugs that actually work on Bucky Bear.” Tony replied waving the syringe a little as he gestured at Bucky.

“What’s its name?” Steve wasn’t going to let it go, starting to fluff up again in irritation.

“Not invented til after your memories end sooooo the name would be useless and honestly we just call it the ‘Super Soldier Happy Stuff’. Honest, it’s the label we wrote on it in marker. Granted the label is masking tape and this stuff isn’t FDA approved so therefore highly illegal but it makes his world a whole lot better place to be in.”

“I ain’t gonna-“

Bucky tugged on Steve’s shirt, grabbing his attention. “Tony’s my friend Stevie. I trust him. He’s not gonna hurt me.”

Steve huffed and gave Tony the stink eye. Tony tried his best to keep his face somewhere between manic and nonchalant but failed at it with the warmth in his eyes and the thinning of his lips as he pressed them together to keep from saying anything warm or sentimental. Goddamn he just loved surrounding himself with emotionally stunted idiots.

Then Tony stabbed his arm with the needle, letting the drug enter his blood stream. Bucky ignored with diligent grace the upraised eyebrows Sam was shooting Tony, trying to communicate that he thought giving Bucky Steve’s ‘happy drugs’ was probably not a good idea. But you know what, Bucky thought blearily, fuck him, fuck ‘em all. He could have the happy drugs.

“Tony? Tony ya said I was naked but I don’t feel naked. I got pants on right?” Bucky asked because he had to turn the conversation somewhere safe, and that was safe. Kinda. Bucky wasn’t sure how to get any conversation into a neutral or safe ground, especially since Steve was looking irritated and a bit defensive like he had to prove something. God damnit he did not need those two ending up measuring each other’s dicks to see who was better, because it was Tony and it was Steve and those two elements were like adding anything from the Alkali Earth Metals and water together. Things went boom and the further down you got the bigger the boom.

“Nope.” Tony made sure to pop the p just to be an asshole.

“Thor gave you his cape.” Sam interjected himself into the conversation. “We didn’t think moving you around and trying to put you in clothes when we didn’t know how extensive the breaks were or where seemed like it’d just be cruel. So we covered up the important parts for the moment.”

“Ah.” Bucky finally had to acknowledge Sam’s existence. It was easier to do so because he felt liquid and languid and a bit happy even though his heart felt like it had shattered all over again.

“Can you tell me anything about your healing process?”

“It happens.” Bucky replied only to feel his ear being tweaked by Steve. Moving his gaze from Sam’s face he tilted his head to look at Steve. “What?”

“He’s trying to help you.” Steve said, which really Bucky had figured that part already. It just didn’t mean Bucky was going to be cooperative because he didn’t trust most of the people on this fucking plane except Steve and Tony…and maybe Thor. “ _Behave_.”

Bucky shivered and his breath didn’t hitch but it almost did. It was Steve’s special tone, the one that didn’t give Bucky room for argument or being sassy. It was a tone that Bucky hadn’t heard in decades, hadn’t heard since he’d been pried off the table in Zola’s lab by a changling wearing Steve’s face but not exactly Steve’s heart and to be honest Steve’s heart had always been the most important thing to Bucky. That tone was a comfort as much as it was a leash and Bucky hadn’t realized how much he had missed that part too, the part where Steve just pulled Bucky back in line and did what was best for them both. Because sometimes Bucky had gotten lost, he would get lost and scared and he had always had to put on the face of being brave and in charge because he was bigger, stronger, and generally had a decent grasp on what self preservation was. He had always been the one to break down into tears in the bathroom back when Steve would get so sick that the only reason Steve survived was because Bucky privately thought he’d been punching death in the face whenever it came too near. For all the politeness and rigid adherence to manners and doing the right thing, Steve was a mean little cuss with a truly Irish temper. 

God sometimes Bucky had always wondered why Steve had come out blond and not ginger, Bucky’s personal opinion was that God liked laughing seeing the surprised expression on people’s faces when Steve snapped and started raging at the world. The ginger hair would have only warned people that the temper existed. It was so ridiculous because Steve should’ve been ginger and Owen should’ve been blond and they were switched up and turned around and god they were adorable and always made his goddamn blood pressure do terrible things.

So Bucky nodded, his mental fingers practically ripping Steve’s shirt as he tried to find it in himself to give Sam the answer he sought. Because Steve had said to behave in that tone he missed, in that stupid tone he didn’t have a good enough defense for yet. It’d happen soon enough, Bucky would make sure, when he wasn’t in pain and higher than a friggin’ kite on painkillers.

“When we get to New York the fractures in my fingers, hands, wrists, toes, and feet will have healed. My ribs will take a day. Everything else will be fully healed in two to three days time, but if required I am functional right now.”

“Functional? _Functional_?” Tony sounded incredulous and angry all at once. “You are not functional, you are not a robot, you are injured and you are staying down until you fucking are fully healed Barnes. You’re just…” Tony lost his words as he tried not to look like he wanted to cry or throttle Bucky within an inch of his life.

“A weapon.” Natasha interrupted.

“No he ain’t.” Steve shot, his blue eyes fierce. “Bucky’s a person.”

“No I’m not.” Bucky murmured. “I’m functional, I wouldn’t like it but I could get up right now ‘n kill Wilson, you, Tony, and probably Hawkeye if I wanted. The Widow, Thor, and Banner would be the only ones to survive my initial assault, and then it would only be Thor and Banner. The Red Room took a person ‘n made him a monster, and that monster is me.” Blinking his eyes he focused on the roof of the quinjet. The roof was safe. “I wish I was human still sometimes, yanno? Wish I could have things I can’t. I’m not talking about a normal life either, I mean the other things. Like actually being incapacitated by torture, that’d be nice, that’d make me feel human I think. Or maybe dying from some things, like my initial fall, the one in the Alps. I wanted to die, it hurt so much back then, and doin’ what I did wasn’t suicide though I was grateful I could make the exchange between my life ‘n the Captain’s. There wasn’t another choice and it was nice to have an out like that, even though I knew I was going to hell. Except I didn’t die, lost my arm, but I didn’t die in the right way. I died in the wrong way.”

“Shut the fuck up Buck.” Steve whispered hoarsely and Bucky could hear the tears in Steve’s eyes from his voice. “You don’t mean that. You don’t. You’re human and a good man, the best man I know. Whatever’s happened hasn’t changed that. Stop saying this stupid shit about going to Hell, ‘cause you ain’t. I won’t let them take you there. If they try I’ll fucking follow you down there to drag you back up into Heaven where you fucking belong. You’re good and I’m not sorry you didn’t die, I can’t be, because if you did I’d be alone.”

“You don’t know shit right now Stevie.” There wasn’t venom in his voice, just an aching tiredness. “You don’t know at all what’s happened so your opinion doesn’t count ‘cause you don’t know who the fuck I am anymore. ‘n besides you don’t get to fuckin’ talk about leaving you alone when you fuckin’ left in the first place. You left ‘n left me with nothin’, no home, no friend, no fuckin’ future. You were all I had and you had all of me and it wasn’t enough to keep you from leaving. I knew I wasn’t good back then, I knew I was fucked up ‘n dirty ‘n fuckin’ trash, but you always made it seem like I was worth somethin’ to ya when I wasn’t worth anythin’ to anyone else not even my family because if I had been Ma wouldn’t have dropped me in the orphanage and kept the girls.

And that was then. I can’t say I feel tons better but I have somethin’ now that makes me wanna come back. I have somethin’ to live for, someone who loves me despite the fact I’m not a good person at all. I don’t know what I’ll do when he grows up and moves out, but maybe by then I’ll have something else to help make me want to live because I can’t dredge up that desire all by my lonesome. I’m a fuckin’ monster Stevie, but even monsters can love their kids and want to make the world better for ‘em.”

Steve opened his mouth, his face flushed with anger and his body trembling with emotion. Bucky could feel it from where his head was still perched in Steve’s lap. He heard Steve’s sharp intake of breath, a signal that Steve was about to start yelling when a hand clamped over Steve’s mouth.

“ _No_.” Tony spoke with a firm sort of authority that he usually didn’t wear. “First off: Barnes has enough drugs in his system that he is not allowed to make life decisions and therefore this argument is not going to continue. We don’t let you do stupid shit on this stuff and if you do we don’t hold it against you so curtesy is also extended to Barnes. Second: there shouldn’t have to be because the first should have been sufficient but whatever, Barnes has been through so much fucking shit at this point in time that you should be doing a fucking happy dance he isn’t trying to fling himself out of this goddamn airplane and that somehow your shitty catholic upbringing has stuck in his head and suicide is still something abhorrent to him. Third: You two have been on shit terms for over a year now and he owes you _nothing_ right now but he still came to help us save your ass and managed to fucking pull a jailbreak for you with the people who had held him for decades and tortured him in ways that makes me throw up when I think too much about it. So we’re going to let Wilson splint the bits that need splinting, I’m going to jab him with another dose of happy drugs and get Barnes to pass out, and you’re going to sit back, look pretty, and be comforting because for all his prickly pear nature right now he’s sad and hurting and somehow you are making him feel better even though he feels incredibly unsafe being surrounded by the rest of the Avengers. Then we’re going to explain things to you and I get the dubious pleasure of informing my fiancée who is currently babysitting Barnes’ kid that Barnes is hurt so we can prep Owen a little bit to try and avoid Owen having a panic attack over Barnes maybe dying and leaving him. Understood? Understood.”

Bucky watched Steve nod tersely, glaring daggers at Tony. With his broken hand Bucky reached out and laid his hand on Tony’s thigh, thumb rubbing against the Hawaiian shorts in a soothing manner. “Ya don’t have to protect me Tony.”

Tony shot Bucky an unimpressed and mildly offended look. “Of course I do, Buck Rogers. There’s this thing called friendship and we sort of have that going on. Though if it makes you feel better you can pretend that the fact that you’re my employee and I don’t want to be sued for negligence or some shit is why I’m doing this. Or maybe it’s because I think you’re cute and you’re prettiest when you’re happy and Pepper agrees with me on your cuteness factor, she likes your ass but I’m an avid admirer of your lips.”

He couldn’t help it when he started to laugh, ignoring the pain and Steve’s look of scandalized horror that Tony was openly admitting to finding Bucky attractive. It wasn’t that Steve disliked queers, it was more Steve just couldn’t imagine it being okay or safe to talk about something like that with other people around. Shit like that got people killed back in Brooklyn. The only thing that kept Steve from launching himself at Tony was that Bucky was laughing about it, that he was wheezing out chuckles as the other Avengers stared at the scene trying to comprehend what was going on.

Tony got up with a tense sort of smile and walked to the first aid station, measuring out the drugs that would knock Bucky out.

“Hey Barnes?” Sam caught his attention as Tony mixed up the ‘night night supersoldier’ cocktail. “Just wanna let you know that I think you’re stupid and that you’re not as bad as you think you are. I also won’t let anyone do anything bad to you while you’re out, though I know you don’t trust me and I get it. I do. Besides I’m pretty sure your personal pet badger would murder and emasculate me if I tried and that’s not counting Stark who would probably do something horrible and highly inventive. So you’re safe.”

Bucky bit back his instinctual reply of ‘no I’m not’. Instead he just turned his head and tried to hide his face in Steve’s thigh. No answer was better than lying right now. So he waited for Tony to return, waited for the familiar sensation of a needle pricking his skin and drugs being introduced to his system again and waited for the blackness to take over. When it did it was then, as he was fading out, that he realized his cheeks were wet with tears he didn’t remember shedding. It was with a sense of wonder he slipped into unconsciousness because he had long since come to the conclusion he couldn’t cry anymore and he marveled over the proof he still could. That maybe there was something still human inside of his nonexistent soul.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve really likes Chompy and really hates Tony

Steve didn’t talk to any of the other people on the plane after Bucky was drugged into unconsciousness. Perhaps he should have talked to them, it seemed like they had the information he needed like why Bucky had a metal arm and long hair and looked like even before he had been tortured he’d been…tortured. The Bucky he could remember didn’t look like this, didn’t look like he had survived a hundred wars and left pieces of himself in all of them. The Bucky he could remember didn’t look at Steve like Steve had done something so bad that it had broken Bucky to the point where the anger couldn’t be mustered anymore and all that was left was pain. The Bucky he could remember would have at least gotten offended by a man flirting with him so blatantly, instead of laughing and accepting the comment as a compliment and a joke all at once.

The Bucky before him wasn’t the Bucky he remembered.

It didn’t make him wrong though. The man before him, unnaturally pale compared to the Bucky in his immediate memory, was still Bucky. Bucky still made him want to curl up around him and keep the world away from him. Bucky still had those threads of gentleness that he never could hide from Steve or that underlying fear that Steve never knew the source of but had been with Bucky since the first day they met and always went away when Steve did something right. Even when something had gone wrong (because the fear hadn’t left Bucky’s eyes this time, Steve could see it even after Bucky had been drugged and had had his ‘friend’ sitting next to him) Bucky was still reaching out for Steve to make it right, or at least if he couldn’t make it right he could make Bucky feel safe.

Except he hadn’t this time. Even when he had put Bucky’s head in his lap, even when he had run his fingers through Bucky’s hair, even when he had undoubtedly made the point crystal clear that he would murder anyone who dared to think about hurting Bucky, Bucky hadn’t felt safe. Bucky hadn’t felt safe. Bucky didn’t trust Steve, not the way he had before. There was a rift between them and there was so much that had happened but Steve didn’t know what it was. Steve didn’t understand what had happened to break their bond so thoroughly.

But he was going to fix it. It didn’t matter what he would have to do or how many people he was going to have to punch to get the point across that no one hurt Bucky anymore. It didn’t matter how long he’d have to stay by Bucky’s side and show him that Steve still cared and Steve still wanted to be his best friend and to fix whatever fuck up he had done to make Bucky not trust him.

“Cap.” The annoying friend of Bucky’s, the one named Tony, came over to him with a confident swagger that a man wearing the ridiculous outfit he was currently wearing shouldn’t have. Steve glanced at him frostily, still refusing to move after they had splinted Bucky’s legs and one of his arms and finally got pants on him. “We’re five minutes out from our destination. When we land Thor and Bruce.” Tony waved at each man so Steve would know who they were. “Are going to take Bucky to medical and set him up down there. You are going to come with Nat, Sam, and I and we’re going to talk about the Red Room and what they did to you, what you can remember, and then we’re going to talk about Bucky. After that, when we’re pretty certain you haven’t been programmed to assassinate anyone or do something diabolical we’ll figure out what to do with you.”

Steve’s teeth ground together as he tried to reign in his temper. Bucky trusted this man, annoying as he was, and Bucky’s trust was rare enough that Steve was going to bow down to it. “Fine. Though ya won’t have to ‘figure out’ what to do with me. I’m gonna be with Buck.”

Tony simply gave Steve a look, one that said he didn’t really believe that but for the sake of not poking his temper he wasn’t going to verbalize it. Which honestly still poked Steve’s temper because there was nothing that could keep him from Bucky’s side and he hated the implication that there would be anything that anyone could think of that would.

Time passed quickly though, and soon Thor was there picking up Bucky like he was some sort of incredibly precious treasure that could break at the slightest touch. It didn’t make Steve like Thor a whole lot more, considering Thor let Bucky go through with a stupid ass plan to get Steve out of that stupid and creepy facility. Still at least someone else saw that Bucky was worth something and should be treated with care when he was hurt.

It was hard to fight the instinct to try and pry Bucky out of his arms though. Not like Steve had a chance in hell of holding him up, or being able to carry him at all, and it burned a bit knowing that he couldn’t do that. Steve had to let someone else do it. At least, for the first bit everyone was still together, Steve was still allowed to be near Bucky.

They walked to an elevator everyone feeling a little awkward at the situation. The doors opened into a rather odd but very luxurious room that looked like it might be a living room. Steve wasn’t paying attention to it really, not when Bucky was close and being held like a doll in a giant man’s arms. Everyone piled out of the elevator and it was still quiet, until it wasn’t.

Steve had never seen a creature like it before. It was fifteen pounds, max, maybe, and blue and gray. It had feathers around its head and in little tufts around its body, scales everywhere else. There were four legs and two feathered wings and Steve was going to bet that it was a dragon. A small dragon, but a dragon nonetheless. It had golden eyes, large and intelligent and very very angry. The feathers were ruffled flaring up into a crest on top of its head, mostly obscuring the fact that there was a flower pinned in its feathers. It opened its mouth somewhere between a maw and a beak with rows of very sharp looking teeth and a noise came out. High pitched at first before something came out of its mouth, bright blue and glowing and seemingly to have some sort of substance to it despite being very obviously fire that was spat out at the boots of Thor. Thor hopped a bit, looking bewildered and concerned at having viscous fire being hurled at him.

“ _BUCKY_ ”

There was a shout, terrified and filled with worry and Steve took his eyes off of the tiny dragon to stare at who had called for Bucky. It was a kid. A kid whose eyes were focused on Bucky, whose face looked like the world itself was ending because Bucky was hurt and unconscious. The kid reminded Steve a little bit of himself when he was young, but not a lot. Steve hadn’t had freckles or green eyes or reacted with tears when Bucky had been hurt, he’d always reacted with anger, he’d always had a bit of hardness to him, a bit of anger that this child seemed to lack.

This must be Bucky’s kid. He had to be Bucky’s kid because Tony was stepping forward and sweeping the kid up into his arms trying to reassure the kid that Bucky was going to be okay, that he was just a little hurt and that Tony had put him to sleep because Bucky was being stupid about his health again, and didn’t Owen know how easy it was for Bucky to be stupid about his health. The kid trembled in Tony’s arms, eyes still stubbornly fixated on Bucky.

“Peace.” Thor rumbled in a soothing tone as he did something that resembled a jig trying to evade the viscous blue fire that the dragon was spitting out. “Your father will be fine.”

Heads turned to look at Thor as if the large blond man was insane. Except he seemed quite earnest even as he hopped around deftly trying to dodge fire, claws, and teeth. “He was injured in battle and is in a healing sleep.” Thor paused as the dragon trilled and hissed at him. “That is anatomically improbable, little one. We also did not fight him, this is the work of other people, evil people who take pleasure in giving people pain.”

“Chompy! Owen where….craaaaaaaaaaap.” A new person showed up, with brown hair and eyes and a skinny frame. He was maybe in his late teens if Steve was judging right. “Chompy! Stop trying to set fire to the norse god of thunder, he doesn’t like dragons and you’re upsetting Owen.” The dragon, Chompy, made a noise full of dark promises of painful mutilation without the release of death before he backed down. It was a noise that should have scared the shit out of Steve, fuck, even seeing a dragon should have scared Steve but all Steve could muster to feel for it was kinship and pride. It was willing to take on someone because it had thought Thor had hurt Bucky. That tiny scrappy creature had earned Steve’s affection and trust, especially when it shot a petulant look at the teen standing there with his hands on his hips trying to look authoritative and disapproving.

“Hey Peter, where’s Pep?” Tony asked the teen, Peter, looking unconcerned that he was there despite the fact that everyone else was giving the teen a measuring look.

“Something about a corporate emergency and that Jarvis wasn’t going to be enough to look after Owen right now because something had happened to….” He trailed off and looked sheepish for a moment. “Well yea, so it seems I suck at being a baby sitter because Chompy perks up and starts running and that seemed to be Owen’s cue to use the ninja skills he’s got to follow and they know this place better than I do so they escaped me for a bit. Jarvis told me where they were and you guys had arrived.”

Without looking awkward Peter came over to Tony and carefully took Owen out of his arms. The kid just latched onto Peter, tears streaming down his face and body trembling but it seemed like words weren’t something that he was inclined to use right now. Peter petted the back of his head for a moment, walking over to where Chompy was and picked him up too after a moment to redistribute Owen’s weight. “Lead the way big guy. They aren’t going to calm down until they can plaster themselves to their guardian.”

Thor nodded. The Norse god seemed to understand that the…kids weren’t going to be calm until they could touch Bucky and reassure themselves that Bucky was alive. It was only after they had left earshot that Sam took in a deep breath. “The kid’s got PTSD and I think the uh…dragon does too. Stark how did Barnes get them?”

Tony stood for a moment looking back towards the people left, looking almost anxious. Then he seemed to rally and tilt his head towards the opposite hallway. “We’ll walk and talk.”

Then with a breath Tony began to speak. “Since I know this is going to come up at some point, first off Barnes was not the person who gave Owen the scar on his face, second Barnes was given legal custody of Owen by Owen’s mom months ago. When I first asked Barnes how he got the kid the bastard had the gall to smirk at me and tell me that he got him the same way all people got kids the Stork brought him. Obviously he was lying about that. Truth is is that Barnes started out renting a room from Owen’s mom and the only reason he got it was because Barnes is terrifying and she figured that he would be enough to scare her ex away. The guy who did give Owen the scar on his face, blinded him in that eye and deafened him on that side. Then Barnes began taking care of Owen, making sure he got fed, watered, had all his medicine, and made him feel safe. For a super secret soviet assassin he was excellent at childcare, apparently to the point where Owen decided Barnes was his Uncle and eventually Owen’s mom decided it was best if Barnes had custody and shit of Owen because he actually gave a damn about the kid. I’ve seen a lot of people who’re decent parents who don’t love their kids half as much as Barnes loves Owen.”

“Yea okay I get you see him as a good parent for Owen but how did he get a _dragon_ and why does said dragon seem to think Barnes is his dad?”

“Bucky’s always been good with kids.” Steve interjected, uncomfortable with how wary everyone but Tony seemed to be at the idea of Bucky having kids. Even if one of them was unconventional and dragon shaped, it seemed intelligent enough to converse with Thor. “He has two little sisters he took care of even after his Ma sent him to the orphanage. Well before they moved away. He helped out with the other kids too and seemed to enjoy it. Buck’s always been kind, if Owen wasn’t being cared for right and Bucky could fix it then he would. Always knew he’d be a great dad, he used to talk about how he’d adopt kids when he was older ‘cause there were enough kids in the world needing love without him adding to the count.”

His defense seemed to make everyone even more uncomfortable, which didn’t make any sense. It didn’t, because there had been proof right before their eyes not minutes ago that Bucky had obviously meant something important to those two kids (hell even Peter seemed to care about Bucky) and kids usually didn’t get that upset if they didn’t love the person they saw who was hurt. You only got that kind of love from a kid if you had loved them right in return. He’d seen it before, on Bucky’s face, when someone had said something bad about Steve’s Ma. There was a fierce loyalty between those three and it spoke of something good.

Well one person wasn’t uncomfortable. Tony seemed to be grateful someone else thought Bucky was good, but even then there was something in his eyes that had Steve’s hackles raised.

“That was the friend you knew, Steve.” Came the woman, Natasha she had been called earlier on the plane. “He is not the same person.”

“Just ‘cause there’s shit I don’t remember happening doesn’t mean the core of Bucky’s changed. He’s the sweetest person I ever knew and he only grew up tough because he had to, Brooklyn wouldn’t let him be anything else. He’s still sweet inside.”

“Look Cap. I am all on the Bucky Barnes is probably one of the greatest guys ever train, I am probably the conductor of the train, I probably will fight you for the continued position of conductor of the Bucky Barnes is the greatest guy ever train but even I am going to say that he isn’t the guy you remember. Metal arm probably clued you in on that. If not you walking around a swanky skyscraper penthouse dealing with Barnes’ kid..s. We will get to the whole how everything is different right now thing but we need you to tell us what happened to you where Bucky and Thor rescued you.”

Steve wanted to throw a punch at Tony and he couldn’t pinpoint why. Maybe it was because Tony was insinuating that Steve wasn’t Bucky’s biggest supporter right now but Tony was, or maybe it was because Tony was filled with knowledge of Bucky that Steve didn’t know, or maybe it was because the guy was just an asshole with poor fashion sense who jumped conversation topics like a kid played hopstoch.

“Only if you tell me how Bucky got…Chompy.” Because Steve wanted more information, because he wanted to start fleshing out the picture of Bucky in his mind now. All he had was a rough shape and he needed more details, more everything, so Steve could look at it and know exactly what to do to fix this.

“Fine only because I’ve heard enough stories about you right now to know you’re stubborn.” Tony said as he opened the door to a room and ushered everyone inside. There were multiple chairs that looked comfy enough but the room itself seemed…sturdy. Reinforced, like instead of a sitting room like it appeared to be it was more like a prettied up cell. It set Steve’s teeth on edge and made him want to turn around and walk out of it. “Barnes liberated Chompy from a scientific lab doing illegal research on various animals, trying to create things that would be good weapons. Barnes stumbled on Chompy and his containment area and was taken in by Chompy’s attempts at looking very cute and sweet and the very detailed report that indicated that Chompy was highly intelligent for an animal. Barnes said he talked to Chompy for a little bit, figured out Chompy could understand him, worked out Chompy wasn’t going to be aggressive and had the brilliant idea of training Chompy to be Owen’s Service Animal. Which is now what Chompy officially is, but I think Barnes is going to change that if he can if Chompy’s proven to be more like a kid than an animal.”

Steve chewed on the story, knowing that Tony was leaving information out, dumbing it down so Steve would understand half of what Tony was saying but at the same time giving Steve what he wanted. More pieces of Bucky and more questions than answers.

“Alright. Deal’s a deal.”

It wasn’t a surprise when Natasha leaned forward in her seat, looking elegant and deadly. Between the three people in the room Natasha seemed to be the most informed after Bucky where he’d been held, and she seemed the most wary. Like she didn’t know who she was dealing with but that whoever was there was probably a bomb waiting to go off. Squaring his shoulders he faced her, making sure his right ear was closer to her to catch whatever she was going to say or ask him. He’d faced questions from nuns and his mother, how hard could it be to tell this woman what had happened to him.

It turned out harder than the nuns and just a hair easier than his mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter seems a bit short but it's mainly because the next chapter is going to be a behemoth of pain. It's already over 5,000 words/9 pages and that's before I've written any bits of Steve's pov stuff. So uh...head's up that when the next chapter does get posted you might need tissues...and something to hug...and maybe some cookies or ice cream.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is Pandora and the box...well it is a box.

Steve didn’t cry very often. It wasn’t because he lacked empathy with other people’s pain or that he hadn’t had his own pain or joy to deal with. Steve didn’t cry because it had always been seen as a weakness to others. If the shrimpy guy could cry then it meant more pleasure for the bullies that thrived in their shitty neighborhood. It had taken work and determination but he’d learned to keep any tears he had inside, made sure he never showed weakness. It had been okay like that because in a way he’d also had Bucky there with him, Bucky who would try to hide his tears but never seemed to ever be able to make them stop like Steve could. Bucky’s tears were good enough for the both of them.

Except now it wasn’t.

Pressing his forehead against the cold porcelain of the toilet Steve blindly groped for the handle to flush it. His face was red and blotchy, his breathing was short and gasping, and everything inside his soul ached. There weren’t tears falling from his eyes but he was sobbing brokenly, his body trembling so furiously that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stand up properly. It didn’t matter though because right now he had no other place he wanted to be as his world broke apart around him.

 _Bucky_.

His voice wouldn’t work, his throat was raw from the screaming fit he had had when Natasha, Sam, and Tony had explained what had happened to him, to Bucky, to the world in the last seventy years. Red had colored his vision because how dare they, how dare the world do that to Bucky Barnes? How had these people who were the supposed protectors of the world fail so spectacularly in wiping at least one of the greatest evils Steve had ever heard of off the face of the planet. How could they have let Red Room still exist, Hydra still exist, when both organizations had caused so much pain. How could he have let those organizations still exist when he had breath in his lungs and heart that still beat?

Steve hated bullies. He did. He didn’t hate the Nazis for being German. He hated them for what they did to other people. Steve hadn’t wanted Germany or Germans wiped off the map and in history. Steve had just wanted the Nazis to stop hurting other people and he hoped that there’d be nonlethal ways to stop them but he had been pragmatic, he knew he’d have to kill if he joined up. The thought of killing people had been distasteful.

Except right now Steve wanted to tear every single person who had been in the Red Room and Hydra apart with his bare hands. He wanted them dead because there was no redemption for what they had done. They’d tortured innocent people, they’d made people into weapons. But most of all, the most painful part of it all, the most unforgivable act they had ever done was hurt Bucky Barnes. No one was allowed to hurt Bucky, and it wasn’t because Steve didn’t think Bucky couldn’t care for himself. Bucky had pulled his ass out of so many fights, finished so many fights Steve had started, that he’d be stupid to think Bucky was weak in any way.

Bucky wasn’t weak, but he was gentle.

Everyone thought Steve was the better of the pair. Which was bullshit. Bucky might’ve been stronger, might’ve had those dark looks and charming smile, might’ve had a mischievious streak in him a mile wide, but he had a soft heart and an empathy that Steve couldn’t always understand or emulate. Not to say Steve was a terrible person, he did the right thing because it was right, because he genuinely thought that it was what he needed to do. He liked helping people with their problems and he meant almost every kind thing he said.

It was just, Steve knew he was the one who led Bucky into trouble more often than not. Steve knew that he was the one causing all the fights that Bucky had to finish. Steve was the mastermind of over half their utterly insane plans, that he was wicked with his humor and wasn’t afraid of it. Bucky had been there to mitigate any damage Steve might do, because while Steve’s innocent ‘I did nothing wrong’ face worked well Bucky’s words had always worked better. Steve got them into messes, Bucky always cleaned them up. Sure it hadn’t always been like that, occasionally Bucky got into a mess all on his own and Steve would try to help him out of it.

The worst part of it all, that after hours of conversation (and Steve losing his temper frequently because he couldn’t not react badly to hearing about how Bucky had been tortured and experimented on and twisted so terribly and Steve hadn’t been able to help him), that after all the things he had learned about, he knew he was missing things. He knew that everyone had been leaving things out and he couldn’t tell if it was because they thought he couldn’t understand it or if what they were leaving out was even worse than what they told him. It made him want to pry every little piece of knowledge they had on Bucky out of their brains forcibly but he was too wrecked now. He didn’t have the energy or the strength to grab every piece of Bucky he could to hold close and examine and mourn over the loss the best man he ever knew had endured.

So when the debrief had been ended and that Sam had very calmly reasoned with Steve that maybe going to sit by Bucky’s bed right now was not the best idea until he calmed down Steve had been sent to his room. Room had been a rather loose term for penthouse suite. Which would have fascinated Steve if he hadn’t woodenly found his bedroom and the bathroom attached to it. He had shut the door behind him and let himself collapse, let himself finally feel everything in him that wasn’t anger (because Steve could function through anger he just couldn’t function through grief).

He didn’t know how long he had stayed there, retching and sobbing and almost crying but not quite. The tears still didn’t come and it was okay. It was okay not to cry about this.

It took him longer than he would have liked to stand up and splash cold water on his face. He only glanced at himself in the mirror, already knowing he looked like hell but hating to have it confirmed. There was one thing about always being unattractive that wasn’t great, which was when your baseline was already bad it made the moments when you looked like shit even worse. No way in hell was he going down to see Bucky right now, not because Bucky hadn’t seen him this bad before but because…well he didn’t really wanna scare either of Bucky’s kids with his appearance.

Walking out into his bedroom, because even though he didn’t remember it and even though it was for him but not him it was his, he zeroed in on the bed. Sure he should eat something. He should maybe drink some water. Except he was certain anything he put into his stomach right now would find a way back up, it always happened when he got too worked up. So he’d sleep or at least rest until he calmed down. Climbing onto his bed he curled onto his left side, staring at the nightstand blankly.

His chaotic mind was what he blamed when he finally realized he was staring at something familiar. There on the nightstand sat a wooden box. The box wasn’t particularly big, it had never had to be big to hold the meagre amount of jewelery his mother had owned, but it had been nice. The wood was polished and smooth, the little lock that had kept it closed had been opened with the little key and laid to the side, and the metal inlay on both sides were worn but still pretty in the practical way his mother had always liked. What Steve didn’t understand was why the box was there. That box wasn’t _his_ anymore. It had been given to Bucky, Bucky would never have parted with that box even if it meant to save his life, Bucky had adored that box and had cared for it so carefully that sometimes Steve had felt a little jealous of it. Hell Bucky had even packed it in with his meagre belongings he was going to take with him when he shipped out. Steve had remembered how Bucky had smiled ruefully when Steve had said maybe Bucky should leave the box at home in Brooklyn, like he had known part of why Steve had been asking was because Steve wanted to know what Bucky had put in that box. What was so precious inside that Bucky never let the key leave his person, ever (because Steve had tried to look for it multiple times but Bucky knew him all too well). Steve had remembered the way that Bucky had looked at the box, pained and resigned and amused all at once. _You’ll see what’s inside someday Punk, but not til I’m ready._

The box was there. The box was unlocked.

Steve remembered a story once that Bucky had read to him while he’d been sick. It was the greek myth of Pandora, and Steve had laughed and laughed as Bucky added his comments of ‘because you know opening the forbidden box is such a wonderful idea. In fact it’s an idea you’d have I bet. Stevie I think I found an account of your ancestor. It seems Rogers’ curiosity is genetic.’ He remembered the warning there, he remembered Bucky’s teasing and exasperation, and he couldn’t help but think _maybe he was right, I’m too curious for my own good_ as he reached over and grabbed the box. He felt guilty for a second except, the box was here, it was here and Bucky had said that he’d never get the box until he was ready for Steve to see what was inside. So if Steve had the box then Bucky must’ve given it to him.

There was something solid in the box at the bottom, that made a little noise as Steve moved the box from the nightstand to his lap. Propping himself up on pillows and bracing himself against the headboard Steve opened the box.

On top were a stack of papers, all folded up like the letters and notes Bucky would write to him all the time. They were always for him, reminding Steve to not go outside for the love of God it was too cold or that there was a sale at a certain grocery store and to get food there or a detailed explanation as to why Bucky was mad at him. Bucky had had a silver tongue on him and was more charming than the devil himself, but sometimes when he needed words to matter when he wanted Steve to really listen he wrote it down. Because as Bucky had said when they were kids, Steve was deaf to everything that wasn’t what he wanted to hear or what would cause a fight but he wasn’t blind and he could read and so if he wasn’t going to listen with the ears God gave him then he’d listen with his eyes. And so that’s how they worked, sometimes, Bucky would scribble out a note or a letter and leave it out to where Steve could find it.

Taking out the one on top he unfolded it.

_Dear Captain Rogers,_

_If you’re reading this then I’m dead. I know I’m dead if you’re reading this because there is no fucking way on this earth I will let you get ahold of these letters if I’m still breathing. So there logical conclusion is is that I’m dead or that you probably somehow got ahold of my will from Dum Dum and decided to investigate. Which considering that you’d probably never think I’d trust Dum Dum with my last will and testament then I’m pretty safe in the assumption that I am very very dead._

_Thank fucking god because I won’t be around to have you punch me. Because punching would happen and I am pretty sure I wouldn’t have been able to survive it so I found a way to get around that heartbreak._

_You don’t have to read these. It is probably best if you don’t if you wanna keep some sort of good image of me in your head. I’m not who you thought I was Rogers and I’m sorry for that. I am. I’m also sorry you weren’t the person I thought you were either, but it’s too late for regrets now._

_Just remember I warned you if you decide to keep going._

_If you decide not to read the rest of the letters you’ll find your Ma’s wedding ring and her locket in the box too. Yes I got them back. If I haven’t given them to you already I hope you give them to Peggy when you make an honest woman of her._

_Bucky_

Steve’s breath stuttered. It was from Bucky. This letter was from Bucky and it was wrong. It was wrong in a way that Steve couldn’t put his finger on. The date was written at the top November 26th 1943 in Bucky’s beautiful handwriting, except it was a little shaky. The lines weren’t as smooth as they normally were and…and Steve was trying to focus on that instead of thinking about how Bucky had gotten Steve’s Ma’s ring and locket back. That Bucky had found them and had kept them for the day when Steve was going to ‘make an honest woman’ out of someone, out of Peggy. Except Steve didn’t know who the hell Peggy was and he didn’t know why he was going to be giving her his Ma’s jewelry or why Bucky seemed so distant and controlled in his anger at Steve for some reason. 

Why was this the first letter? It was in 43, it was after Bucky had gone to war and before Bucky had fallen off the train by two years. There were obviously others but Steve knew that there had been things Bucky had written and stored away in here before then and wouldn’t there have been things Bucky wanted to say but couldn’t afterwards?

Swallowing hard Steve ignored Bucky’s warnings, because there wasn’t a hell of a lot of shit Bucky could have done back then that would make Steve think less of him. Especially since right now Steve didn’t think less of Bucky and Bucky was a super assassin who hated his guts.

_Steve,_

_Jesus Mary and Joseph what am I gonna do? I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know. I didn’t meant to do this or be this. Oh God I’m going to Hell Stevie. I’m going to Hell and I can’t not now. I won’t be able to fix this. I’m so sorry Stevie. I’m so sorry I can’t be normal or good or anything you deserve in a friend._

_Jesus I’m disgusting blubbering to you over this. You got it so much harder than me. You’re laid up right now with pneumonia again and you’re not doing great and please don’t die on me. Please don’t leave me alone. I wanna stay with you til I die Stevie. I’m glad you didn’t go to Mass today, I’m glad you weren’t there to see it when it hit me._

_Glad I’m a good liar and convinced Father O’Malley that I’d just managed to catch what you had when he caught me upchucking over the bushes. He’s a shit priest though when he can’t tell the difference between emotionally distraught and actually sick. You’ll probably hear about that, you’ll probably get pissy at me for going to Mass when I ‘wasn’t feeling well’, you’ll get sore at me for insisting on looking after you while your Ma is working, and you won’t put two and two together and I’m so glad that you’re a dumb piece of shit when it comes to people’s feelings._

_I’m so sorry Steve. I don’t deserve to be your best friend and if there was anyone who I thought could do it, who could do right by you like that, I’d find them and put them besides you and step back and just be near but not too close._

_This wasn’t what you wanted to hear ever. You probably won’t ever actually hear it from me because I won’t drag you down with me Stevie, I won’t. You’re the most goddamn beautiful person I’ve ever met and I wish that I could kiss you. I wanna hold ya Stevie, I wanna have you hold me, I want us to be together forever. It can’t happen though, you want a good girl who will give you everything you ever wanted, you want a family I know you do, you want to be able to be seen with your girl everywhere you go so you can be proud and shit and show everyone how much you love her._

_And god I wish I was a girl Stevie, so I could be your girl. But I’m a guy, I’m a guy and I like other guys, I always have and I love you. I love you so much and that’s why I just can’t tell you, because you’ll break my heart when you tell me no. I know you will. My heart’s been broken enough by everything else in my shit life Stevie, don’t need you doing it too._

_I’m sorry I couldn’t be the friend you deserved, sorry I couldn’t keep my sins to myself. The only good thing I can do, Punk, is make sure you don’t go to Hell with me. I can do that._

_Bucky_

Steve dropped the letter like it was on fire, staring at the words he never thought he’d read. Never thought he’d hear in Bucky’s voice even if it was in his own head. He picked up the letter again, stared at it like it was going to laugh at him, like it was going to change what had been written down and tell him it was a big fucking joke. Not that Bucky was queer, Steve knew that much. He’d known it the second time Bucky had come home with a hitch in his step and hickies covering his neck like he’d slept with a goddamn vampire. It hadn’t been a big deal then, because Bucky still went with girls most of the time and it wasn’t like it was really all that bad to be an invert sometimes. Bucky was still Bucky.

But…Bucky had loved him. That was new. Not that Steve hadn’t known that Bucky had loved him as a friend, that wasn’t new. But the way this letter had said it, the way the ink had been smeared a little like water had dropped onto the letter. Jesus Mary and Joseph Bucky had been crying while he’d written it. The realization smacked into him and made him gasp. Bucky had cried while writing the letter because he had felt so ashamed and Steve wanted to find every single person who had ever made Bucky think that and punch them in the face. Because being queer wasn’t bad, it wasn’t a sin like what Bucky was saying. It was..

Steve took in a deep breath and picked up the next letter.

_Steve,_

_If you keep getting yourself beat up I’m going to fucking break you. You’re gonna kill me buddy. Please stop, it hurts me so much when I see you hurt. Stop fighting. You ain’t some useless piece of shit like me Stevie. You’re smart and talented and so fucking what your body is small and sickly? I mean I’m not discounting your pain or how tired you are of being weak physically, but you’re not weak Steve. You’re strong. You’re so strong and beautiful and you’re my heart and soul and please stop getting into these fights. I thought I was gonna lose you today, I still ain’t sure I ain’t gonna lose you anyway because of your stupidity and your righteous anger. I’m gonna go cry myself to sleep on the couch because I can’t cry myself to sleep on the bed because you might hear. I can’t let you hear it. I can’t tell you all the reasons verbally why I don’t want you to keep doing this Steve but please do your stupid Steve thing and understand what my heart’s trying to tell ya without me using words. Please Stevie. **Please**._

_Bucky_

Shuddering Steve stared at the letter before carefully putting it next to the previous one. Then without pause he began to read the others because he knew if he stopped, if he hesitated he wouldn’t be able to read them all.

_Steve,_

_Your Ma knows I’m queer. Don’t ask me how she does, she did her Sarah Rogers ‘I know everything inside your mind right now’ thing and gave me a talk. I wish your Ma was my Ma because she just gave me a very sad look and told me to be safe and discreet and careful. She then handed me a fistful of condoms I think she stole from work and gave me a very clinical lecture of…you know…the bad things that happen if you don’t use condoms._

_She knows I love you too and she just looked so much sadder when she told me. I wonder why your Ma thinks I’m such a good person, that I should still be allowed around you when I’m a goddamn sodomite. I don’t understand you or your Ma and your belief that I’m worth something. You Rogers are nuts and it’s inheritable, seeing things that ain’t there._

_But she asked me to be safe and I will. I will, I don’t wanna disappoint your Ma Stevie. It’d be worse than disappointing the nuns or Baby Jesus, mainly because I’ve already disappointed them and I haven’t disappointed her yet. I won’t. Someone’s got faith in me, which is stupid, but I won’t squander it._

_I can’t believe I’m more afraid of disappointing your Ma than I am of God._

_Bucky_

_\--_

_Steve,_

_I feel dirty and I can’t get clean. I just can’t even though I’ve been scrubbing and scrubbing. The water went cold and I made myself bleed and I won’t be clean ever again._

_I made sure she had a fun time at least. She felt good and she liked it and I don’t ever wanna do this again but I’m gonna. I know I’m gonna. There’s no way I can’t because I’m handsome and charming and a no good influence on anyone. It’s expected. I have to and I don’t. If I don’t though they’re gonna start asking questions. People are gonna start looking Steve and that can’t happen. If both of us ain’t dating then they’re gonna start thinking things about us that aren’t true. We’re not together Stevie and I won’t let anyone think that because I want you to have a chance at happiness. I want you to have your shot because you are meant for great things and no one will let that happen if they think you’re queer._

_I won’t be clean ever again but I don’t think I was to begin with. I’ll make sure no one thinks that you’re a fairy. You wouldn’t be able to survive it if you lost what goodwill you got around the neighborhood being all chivalrous and shit._

_Bucky_

_\---_

_Steve,_

_I feel even dirtier now. Went to one of the bars, found a guy and God it felt so good. It was so so right and Jesus no wonder people like sex. Except after it wasn’t you. It wasn’t you and it felt wrong after I thought about it. Loosen up your grip on my heart Steve, please. I can’t have you, I have to do the girls but it’s wrong, and can’t I at least have this? Can’t I have something where I can at least pretend for a little while that I can have something akin to what I want?_

_Why the fuck am I even blaming you. It’s my own damn fault. Don’t think I can stop though it makes me feel dirty in a different way than with the girls. At least I can like part of this, at least I can lose myself for a little bit._

_Bucky_

_\--_

_Steve,_

_I’m so sorry she’s gone. I’m gonna miss her too. She was family. She didn’t deserve to die like that. You’re not alone Stevie. I’m with you til the end of the line. I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise. You’re the only good thing left in my world, I’ll do right by you._

_Bucky_

_\--_

_Steve,_

_You goddamn fucking piece of shit. I am so goddamn mad at you I could fucking punch you in the face. We weren’t hurtin’ so much that you needed to sell your Ma’s jewelry. We should just stop joking and really change your name to Steve **Goddamnit** Rogers. Because that is who you are at your very core, an idiot and the reason my hair is gonna go gray before I hit thirty._

_You’ve lost all fucking right to making decisions at this point in time. No more. You ain’t gonna be allowed to do anything major and if you try I will fuckin’ hog tie you to the bed so help me God. Now I gotta go buy those back. You piece of shit I think I might just punch you anyway because I’m so mad._

_She asked me to look after you. On her deathbed your Ma asked me to watch over you because ‘the good lord didn’t give my boy a whole lot of sense but He did give you to him so that’s good enough’. Don’t make me disappoint her. Don’t make me break my promise to your Ma. Don’t know why she thought I could do anything, haven’t been able to keep you in line since the first day we met. I can get you to look at the line but you still jump over it gleefully like you’re some stupid invincible warrior from those myths we read about. You ain’t._

_Goddamn you always tell me I’m stupid, ain’t got a candle to you Rogers._

_Bucky_

_\--_

_Steve,_

_You. Owe. Me. Big. It’ll take me six months at least to get the locket back now, but I got her ring. I got her ring and I ain’t givin’ it back to you til you prove yourself able to make intelligent decisions or you get serious with a girl. I know your Ma would want your girl to have her ring. I hope you smile when I give it to you, ‘cause a smile will be the best payment I could get. It’ll help distract me from the fact I’ll prolly be a jealous bastard. At least I know my own faults well enough to know I won’t wanna share, but I will. Because it will make you happy and you bein’ happy is the one thing I want more than anything else in this world. I want it more than even us being together, and I want that a whole lot. So just imagine how much I want ya to be happy._

_Six months Steve and I’ll get her locket back. I’ll earn enough for it then. Whoever you give these to had better be fucking special Stevie. That dame better be the best damn woman alive. Not because it’s taking so long to fix your stupid impulsive mistake, but because you deserve the best and your Ma’s jewelry will only suit the best. Was in your dad’s family for generations and history like that has gotta be worn right. So she better be a queen or some shit like that._

_Bucky_

_\--_

_Steve,_

_Got the locket back before six months. Ain’t you proud? No, not really because you don’t know that’s where I put my extra pay from basic. I’ve been putting this off Steve. I have because I don’t know how to find the words, but I gotta because this my last night here in the States. This is my last night being me and I am so fucking sore at you for disappearing from the Expo. Couldn’t you have let it rest one night Stevie? Couldn’t you have just stayed with me for my last night here?_

_I’m so scared Steve. I know I’m not gonna make it back. You never met my dad, you moved to the neighborhood after he left. My mother never talked about him to you and I never talked about him to you because what could I say? That the War had broke him? That he was an alcoholic who beat me and my mother? That I can’t remember a time when he wasn’t a mess of rage and pain that he tried to soothe with booze, or maybe he was trying to kill himself with it. I don’t know. It’s why I don’t drink much, I was so afraid I’d turn into him if I took too much. Now I’ll be lucky to crawl into a bottle by the end of this, I don’t got no illusions that this is gonna be good or glorious. I’m gonna change, this is gonna break me somehow. Don’t know what it’ll be to do it Steve, but I know it’ll happen. War breaks things, never fixes them. So it’s gonna break me and if my body’s still breathing I know it won’t be me walking in through the door. I’m so scared that who I’ll become won’t care enough about you to keep watching your back. You gotta have your back watched Steve, you can’t go through this world all alone, not with how much you fight against it._

_I’ll never tell you, I’d probably sooner admit that I love you to your face than tell you I was drafted. I was drafted. I didn’t suddenly get this strong urge of patriotism and decide to join up. I know that’s what I told you, talked about how the bullies in Europe shouldn’t be allowed to continue. I don’t want you to be disappointed in me for not wanting to fight, for not wanting to go when that’s all you want right now. At least I can’t help being queer, I can help being a coward. I know it’s wrong but I don’t care about Europe and the people over there when I know I have you here. You need me to pull you out of your messes and to make sure you don’t die from a cold. You won’t admit it, I won’t say it, but it’s true. You can’t make it on your own Steve and I’m scared that if I come back I won’t have you to come back to. You’re my sunshine Stevie. You’re my moon and my stars. You’re the clouds and the rain and the wind on the water. You’re my heart and my blood and my breath and how can I be alive if I don’t have you around?_

_So stay around. Please just live and stop trying to join up because I don’t want you there. I don’t want war to break you Steve. I don’t want you to lose yourself._

_I love you Steve Rogers. I love your smile. I love your eyes. I love your crooked spine. I love your hands. I love your temper. I love how you gotta be in charge at home because it makes me feel like I don’t gotta carry the weight of the world all the time. I love how you can’t cook for shit. I love your impulsiveness. I love your kindness. I love how you’re dumber than a brick when it comes to interacting with people and relating to them and you got three speeds of ‘polite’, ‘sassy’, and ‘righteous fury’. I love that you see that there’s potential for the world to be a better place. I love how you stick your fucking feet against me when you’re cold when we’re sharing a bed. I love you when you’re stupid. I love you when you’re smart. I love you even though you got the self preservation skills of a rabid badger. I love you so much Stevie. There’s not enough words in any language to say it. I love you. I love you. I love you Steve Rogers._

_So live for me Steve. Make Brooklyn a better place while I’m gone. Keep on breathing so I got a reason to drag the pieces of myself back. Stay safe and let me take all the stupid with me. Okay?_

_Bucky_

_\---_

_Steve,_

_I’m scared. I’m so scared. Why the hell do you wanna be here? Why the hell did you ever think that this was something to do? The newsreels lie about it. This is Hell. This is Hell and I don’t think I’m ever gonna get out of here._

_When I go to sleep, if I go to sleep, there’s always guys crying. I’m so scared I’ve gone past crying and just hit functionally numb terror. I’ve seen people die. I’ve seen dead bodies before. Hard not to back home. But I’ve never seen bodies like this. I’ve never seen bodies ripped apart or a few days old and starting to decompose. I’ve never had to mercy kill before, but I have now. I now know when a guy’s gonna make it and when he ain’t. I know that I’m the best shot in the 107th and if a guy’s down and there’s no hope for him, no way medical is gonna get there to save him or if medical can’t save him and he’s just gonna die slow and painful and I’m close by I’m asked to take him out. I’ve had to purposefully kill our own Steve, just so he won’t spend hours in agony._

_There’s a couple of guys like you here, dumb shits who lied on their enlistment forms about their ages. I’ve punched all the ones I know about at least once and called them all stupid and somehow that makes me their favorite fucking person in the regiment. I got a few friends, a fella named Dum Dum and a fella named Gabe. Dum Dum and Gabe call the kids my ducklings ‘cause where I go they tend to follow back at camp. They really kinda are ducklings, and Steve ducklings don’t belong in war. They need to go back to their Mamas and sit under their wing and never fucking leave. Ducklings are dumb little shits who imprint on the worst sorts of people, like me._

_I miss you Steve._

_I miss you so goddamn much I can’t even breathe when I think about it. It’s like there’s this big part of me that’s just be carved out and I’m not whole, I’m lopsided and wrong. I left all the good bits of me back in Brooklyn with you. I hope they’re still there when I get back. I hope they don’t wander off, they prolly will. I don’t think this war’s gonna be over anytime soon. It’s horrible, it’s so fucking horrible here and I pray that God listens to me for once in my fucking life and He keeps you away from here and safe. I don’t want you to see anything I’ve seen over here. I don’t want you to carry around that horror. You got enough on your stupid shoulders that you don’t need to add anything to it right now._

_I know you ain’t a dame. I know you ain’t mine in any fashion. I hope you’ll wait for me nonetheless. I hope you’ll stay safe. I hope that you’re happy. I hope for a lot of things but I also know you. I know how bullheaded and stupid you are and I know you’re still picking fights and still trying to enlist and please don’t make me come home to a tombstone or have to find a way to bail your sorry ass out of jail because you keep lying to the army trying to get in. I love you and want to throttle you even when there’s an ocean between us._

_Bucky_

_\--_

_Steve,_

_Dum Dum is amazing. He’s so fucking amazing in his stupid fucking hat and his ridiculous mustache. He got booze, he got me booze and he’s wonderful. That earns him a place in heaven no matter how stupid and ridiculous he is. He’s a good fucking friend._

_I drank a lot. A whole lot. ‘s really good. Being drunk I mean. Not the booze. The booze tastes like it can be used to strip paint off a tank. But a little goes a long way and this shit is awful but amazing too. We got a night of leave before we go do something very very stupid because our COs told us to. Lemme reiterate that this plan is so stupid even you wouldn’t do it. No wait you would do it but only if anyone told you not to do it because you’re a stubborn contrary ass._

_You know there’s this guy. They call him Captain America. Most of the regiment wanna kick his ass because he’s makin’ war look all nice and shit when it ain’t. Can’t say I like him for that. Wouldn’t kick his ass though. I think I’d try to kiss him instead. He’s got lips likes yours Stevie. The same shape the same color. He makes me wanna grab him by his stupidly broad shoulders and bring him down to my level to kiss. I’d kiss his lips like I wanna kiss yours. I’m pretty sure he’d be amenable to me kissing him. I think he’d be more amenable to it than you. No way a guy can wear an outfit like that and not occasionally like to tumble in bed with fellas. Maybe if he’s a decent sort, maybe if I meet him, maybe I’ll be able to convince him to try me out, and maybe I’ll get over you and you can have the friend you deserve._

_Pretty fucking sure it ain’t gonna happen though. And before you get pissy, because whether you want me or not I know you will because the fella I’m looking at looks bigger and stronger than you, let me remind you I loved you first. I wanted you first. I’d be using him a bit to get my mind off you._

_I can see your face now in my head. That disbelieving look, one that always comes when you start thinking you’re ugly or unattractive or some shit like that. Which is so stupid Steve, ‘cause you’re so goddamn pretty it hurts. Most of the time girls don’t like you because they don’t understand ya and I haven’t been able to finish my ‘Steve to English’ dictionary. You’re swell Steve, so fucking amazing, and girls usually don’t see it because you tend to sabotage yourself buddy. It’s gonna take a stubborn cuss of a woman to dig past your general bullshit to see what I see. Which is someone who is beautiful and unique and prolly an angel of the lord because you got that righteous fury and strict morals down but you kinda suck at interacting with people. You’re better at punching your problems or ignoring them than actually talking about them._

_I know I haven’t convinced you of your looks yet. Which is sad ‘cause there is a very good reason why I let you take point most of the time and it isn’t just in deference for your need to take control. The view is pretty good when I’m at your six, clothes don’t do you justice Stevie. They never have, but they do enough to where I’ve walked into a lamppost sober once during the summer when it was so hot you sweated enough for your shirt to stick to you and be a little bit see through. You’d just turned around and had started walking backwards telling me about something, probably something about some asshole being an asshole or the general injustice of the world, and I could see your chest and I admit my brain turned off right then. It was like a blackout because I don’t remember much besides thinking you were so fucking gorgeous even though we were both sweating and disgusting. Then there’s pain and I come to on the ground you looking amused and worried and Jesus you’re so oblivious it’s probably gonna get you killed because you thought I was thinking about some dame at the dancehall from last night and not the fact that I wanted to pin you to the nearest available sturdy object and kiss you so hard that you would nearly have an asthma attack. So while you’d recover I’d be able to kiss down your neck, maybe nip at your collar bone a bit, before worshipping your chest. Then if you liked that, if you were nice and hard, I’d get on my knees and suck you off. I wanted to kneel down and suck you off in the middle of the street so everyone would know I was yours. I’m good at sucking cock Stevie, had a decent amount of practice, I’m good enough to where you could fuck my face. I’d like it too, I’d love it if you would tangle your fingers in my hair. I’d love it if you lost a little bit of control, because I’d know that it’d been me who had done it. That’d I’d have been the one to break down your walls and make you go wild._

_I ache just thinking about it. God I want you so much. I wanna give you everything I am. But I have to hold back, I have to hide parts of myself from you Steve and the irony is that the parts I hide are usually the ones that rightfully belong to you. I mean most of me already belongs to you, but those parts, my love and need, my carnal sins, they all have your name written on them._

_Jesus would it convince you, Stevie, how much I think you’re gorgeous and most definitely a man if I said that I’d want you to be the one to fuck me? That I’d spread my legs for you and beg for it? Can’t you see how much I want **you** Steve? How you’ve hung the moon in my world, that you’re my sun always warm and steady, rising in the east and setting in the west. You’re so beautiful. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes, I wish you could feel how out of sorts you make me just by being yourself. Then maybe you could see how much you're loved, maybe you could see how easy it is to fall for you._

_I love you Steve. So much it consumes me and it ain’t fair to either of us that I do. You shouldn’t have to think your friend was being your friend for trying to get into your pants, and I’m not damnit. I swear everything I do is because I care and I want what’s best for you and I know it ain’t me. I know I’m not what’s best or what’s right for you. Sure I have lustful thoughts but I give you privacy and I don’t look when you’re naked and I don’t linger inappropriately when we do touch. Wouldn’t be right taking advantage like that. Besides you’re still my best friend. The best friend I have ever had and the best person in my world and even if I didn’t love you I’d do everything I do for you anyway, because I’m your friend first. And it ain’t fair to me, because I want and I hurt because I want. I have you right next to me and I don’t have you at all and I feel so goddamn lonely. I just want someone to love me back, to see me and all my broken pieces and still think I’m beautiful. So I’m gonna try as best I can to find someone who if they can’t love me at least will tolerate me trying to love them._

_Don’t think I’ll have much time for that. I got a bad feeling about tomorrow. The plan’s stupid, we’re gonna go so far behind enemy lines that if things go wrong and they will, Jesus Mary and Joseph they’re gonna go wrong, and we ain’t gonna get reinforcements or any shit like that. We’re gonna be stranded and either end up dead or POWs._

_So I’m gonna ask Dum Dum, who is a lot more responsible than he looks or acts most of the time, to have my will and testament. Dum Dum’s a survivor, if anyone is gonna make it through this shit it’ll be him. Pretty sure Gabe will too, and Gabe’s a lot smarter and more responsible but no one’s gonna listen to him if he tries to carry out my wishes ‘cause he’s a negro. Which is stupid because he’s gone to college and is real learned. But I want my wishes carried out and Dum Dum’s a stubborn cuss and he’ll get it done. If I die these letters are gonna be in your Ma’s box and in the box are gonna be your Ma’s ring and her locket and don’t you fucking dare sell them again or I will rise up again to kick your stupid fucking ass. If Dum Dum can get it from my body you’re supposed to get my rosary too. Any pay I got left to me is also gonna head your way, you’re put down as my brother on all my forms and Dum Dum’s supposed to tell you to say that your Ma adopted me. Because she basically did, and a lot of the time I still feel like I was her kid too. No one’s gonna check the records close enough to catch the lie. So take it. I don’t want you to have my dog tags though, bury them with me, don’t look at them. Don’t remember me for being a soldier, because I never chose this, I don’t want this. Remember me as your best friend, Hell remember me as the boy who was too stupid not to love you for years and lied to you about it. Remember me as anything but a soldier. Please don’t remember me as being a soldier._

_I’m gonna miss you Stevie, when I’m in Hell._

_Bucky_

_\--_

_Steve,_

_I failed your Ma. I failed her. I don’t have anything left now. I wish I had stayed strapped to the table. I wish I was physically dead. I think I hate you now. I know I hate Agent Carter and Stark. I hope Captain America can lead me into death. I hope I die. I want to die._

_How could you do this? How?_

_I failed you too. I failed. I deserve hell more now than ever before. I hope your soul’s in purgatory. I hope you can work your way to heaven. I love you still. I hate you too._

_Bucky_

Steve hadn’t cried when he had heard about Bucky’s torture. He hadn’t cried when he had seen the evidence of the crimes done to and by Bucky. The tears hadn’t come even though he had sobbed brokenly in the bathroom and retched because it was just too much. Now though…now as he laughed and cursed and ached for Bucky the tears finally came. The tears dripped from his eyes unbidden and uncared for because what were his tears when he had Bucky’s goddamn soul bared to him like this.

He wanted to throttle that idiot. He wanted to shake Bucky hard because it wasn’t his goddamn choice if Steve loved him or not it was Steve’s. He wanted to punch himself because how couldn’t he see what he had been doing to Bucky? How couldn’t he see how much Bucky had loved him, had needed him? How could he have left Bucky alone on that night, the night before Bucky was shipped out, because Bucky had needed him and he’d done what. What had Steve done that was so much more important than spending time with the only person in the whole world that had seen him and fallen in love. He wanted to punch himself, he wanted to punch Bucky, he wanted to punch the entire goddamn world because this wasn’t fair. He should have gotten these letters as soon as they had been written, not…not now. Not when he wasn’t who he was supposed to be, or at least that what the others told him. But maybe…maybe he was exactly who he needed to be because it seemed like his older self was too chicken shit to do what needed to be done.

He folded up the letters, ignoring the last one written in a handwriting that he didn’t recognize, and let himself touch both pieces of jewelry that he had pawned off to get more cash for rent. He didn’t even think he’d see them again, feel them again, but there they were. Sitting in his Ma’s jewelry box like she wasn’t dead and he wasn’t decades in the future and Bucky wasn’t broken.

Scrubbing his face Steve didn’t give a shit what he looked like now. He didn’t care that his clothes were rumpled, that his hair was a mess, that his face was red and raw. He got up from his comfortable bed and stomped towards the elevator. Pressing the button he waited for the doors to open.

“Where would you like to go Captain Rogers?”

The weird sounding British voice asked him.

“Bucky. Wherever you got Bucky I need to be there.”

“Very well sir. Sergeant Barnes is still under sedation at the moment.”

“Don’t care. I’m stayin’ with Buck.” Steve didn’t quite sneer but it was close. Nothing was going to pry him away from Bucky now. Not this weird voice in the elevator, not his friends, not Bucky’s friend, not even Bucky himself. Everyone was going to have to just deal with the fact that Steve wasn’t going to let his friend keep doing whatever he had been doing, that he wasn’t going to let Bucky just be by himself because apparently when Bucky was left alone he made stupid ass decisions. Like thinking Steve wouldn’t love him or that Steve would punch him over the fact that Bucky loved him.

Okay that was a bit close to home because Steve was going to punch Bucky because Bucky loved him, but not just because Bucky loved him but because Bucky though Steve wouldn’t want that. That Bucky thought Steve was going to pick this Peggy over Bucky, that Bucky thought Steve was going to pick anyone over Bucky. That deserved a punch to the face. Then maybe a kiss, kissing Bucky was an intriguing possibility that he would explore later. After he punched sense into his friend and made it clear in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t leaving ever.

When the doors opened onto a floor filled with medical equipment Steve didn’t hesitate to walk out. It didn’t take long for him to find Bucky, laid out on a bed with an iv in his right arm and the ginger child Owen curled on his left side wedged underneath Bucky’s metal arm. Chompy had taken his place wrapped around the top of Bucky’s head and had raised his head to watch Steve come closer. No one else seemed to be here with them but there was a chair next to Bucky’s bed that Steve took.

“Don’t worry ‘m not here to hurt him.” Steve said softly to the dragon who was also Bucky’s kid. Odd that Bucky would let his kid wear flowers and sparkles but it didn’t matter, the dragon was Bucky’s family so by default it made him Steve’s too. “I’m here to protect him, even if it is from himself.” Steve reached out to carefully touch Bucky’s hand, rubbing his thumb gently over the recently mended breaks. “And if anyone else tries to hurt him I’ll distract ‘em so you can set ‘em on fire.”

Chompy made a noise of agreement before settling back to his previous position. Steve almost smiled because out of everyone here he understood the dragon the most. It was hilarious really, but still good. If Steve could get in good with one of Bucky’s kids then he had a shot of getting back in with Bucky. And for the rest of that horrible night Steve counted every breath Bucky made, thanking God for each and every one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://elluvias.tumblr.com/post/96583723405/feverworm-brevard-and-his-dragon-shiva this is how I imagine Chompy to look like when he is fully grown


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's dreams are a lot more normal than his reality

It’s a familiar dream. The house had warm wooden floors and comforting colored walls. It was not overly luxurious, but it was comfortable and calm. Bucky could hear Owen and Chompy talking to each other and knowing that the second voice he heard was Chompy, who had never had a voice at all before but now could speak simply reassures Bucky that this was still a dream, the familiar dream that he had always retreated to when he had been placed in cryostasis.

A cup of coffee was placed before him by a familiar hand and Bucky adamantly refused to look up even as he reached for it and took a sip. The scent of cookies lingered in the air and it was almost strong enough to hide the scent of antiseptic and something else that had always lingered in hospitals but Bucky could never name. It was just a dream, the same sort of dream, and he only looked up as he heard the fondest ‘tsk’ as a gentle hand was placed on his.

“What happened this time Bucky?”

“Your son.”

There wasn’t a hint of venom in Bucky’s eyes or his tone, just an aching wariness as he finally caught the gaze of Sarah Rogers. Her smile was full of empathy, why wouldn’t it be, she had raised the stupid fucker herself and knew exactly what he could put Bucky through on any given day. Just because she existed here, in his second most frequent dream aside from falling, didn’t mean she still didn’t understand the blue eyed boy she raised caused Bucky grief, or that for the longest time she hadn’t known what to call him but she had been kind to him all the same. There were times when Bucky wondered if maybe a little piece of Sarah Rogers didn’t live on in him in the most horrifying way, because if a piece of her did exist in whatever excuse of a soul he had then she had no right to still be here. Bucky had failed her more thoroughly than he had failed any other person in his entire life and that was including Steve _Goddamnit_ Rogers. He didn’t deserve to have this sort of peace even if it was fleeting and confusing, and he didn’t want to taint her with whatever else he had done inside.

“At least he makes your life interesting.” 

Bucky didn’t even care about dignity at this point he just rolled his eyes at her and sipped his coffee like a good boy.

“Yanno Mrs. Rogers that ‘may you live in interesting times’ is a Chinese _curse_?”

“Good thing you’re as Irish as they get Bucky, curses are what make us stronger.”

The inelegant snort that escaped him at her reply had him nearly choking on his imaginary coffee. Reaching over blindly he grabbed a cookie from the plate that was always there and bit into it. Oatmeal Raisin. It seemed that if Mrs. Rogers was existing in his head for real she truly wanted Bucky to feel better, and if she didn’t then his subconscious thought he needed a giant goddamn hug in the shape of a cookie.

“Dunno ‘bout that. I’ve been Russian longer than I’ve been anything else.”

Sarah simply tsked at him again and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “No your looks are solid Black Irish and no amount of living anywhere else will change that. You’re still quite handsome despite the fact you need a haircut.”

“Nobody I wanna impress, besides it fits with the times now.” And he couldn’t help the small smile curling his lips upwards. “And I usually look better than this now, I’m just broken and probably sedated right now so I couldn’t pretty myself up for my best gal.”

“Oh hush. Your charm never works on me Bucky.” Sarah Rogers lied but with the smile and the twinkle in her eyes that told Bucky that she was teasing him. Mrs. Rogers had always liked teasing him, she and her son had shared that trait. Though in all honesty Mrs. Rogers had had a mastery of the art of turning Bucky ten different shades of red at inopportune moments on purpose since the first time he met her.

“Yea, well, you’re my best gal but I’ve never wanted anything from you that you didn’t already give me. Besides I’m as straight as a rainbow, so they say.”

“At least I’m special to you still.”

Those words clogged Bucky’s throat and stung his eyes. Of course she was special to him. She’d always be special to him. She’d let a dumb boy whose own Ma gave him away to an orphanage because she’d obviously seen how wrong he’d been become best friends with her son. She’d loved him even when she’d known he was an invert and in love with Steve. He’d loved her so much that even when they had burned everything else out of him, he’d dreamed of her in this house he’d never been to but always wanted and she’d talk to him, be kind to him, even when she had had no name to call him by and even when he hadn’t been much more than a shell that sat and stared at her and wondered why this woman was in his head.

“And really, ‘straight as a rainbow’? That’s the euphuism now for being queer?”

And he laughed because she could always make him laugh. Shaking his head he looked at her again, a ghost or his conscience or something else, and smiled.

“Oh yea. They got a whole lot o’ ways ta talk about being queer without actually saying it. There’s ‘batting for the other team’, ‘friend of Dorothy’, and ‘confirmed bachelor’ for the ones that aren’t scandalizing. My favorite term so far is as unsubtle as a two by four to the head and it’s ‘ass bandit’. Can’t say it too much around my kids though, yanno I gotta hand it to ya. You sure made raising a kid look easy.”

Mrs. Rogers just smiled and shook her head, trying to smother her laughter at Bucky because he was different and the same all at once. Her blue eyes were wicked and sometimes Bucky forgot that she had been just as small as Steve had been, just as frail, because everything else about her had simply filled up all the space she should inhabit. Sarah Rogers had been a force of nature and she had apparently decided to pass that on to her son.

“That was my evil plan all along Bucky. Make sure that you wanted kids and would get them and then when it was too late laugh when you couldn’t escape parenthood. Out of the two of you I knew you’d find having a kid too irresistible an idea, you wanted a family too much to be able to stay away from it forever. Steve though I didn’t expect any grandchildren from him, babies terrify him.”

“I don’t know how to point this out to ya Mrs. Rogers, but you are a little nuts when you decided to pin your hopes of grandchildren on the gay kid.” Bucky said dryly even as Mrs. Rogers laughed again.

“Bucky I hate to break it to you but you’ve got two kids and Steve has zero so I think that you have no room to talk about my insanity.”

“Yea yea laugh it up. If you were still alive I think you’d love them.” Bucky couldn’t help the pain or the wistfulness in his voice as he stared at her. She should’ve had a chance to meet her adopted grandchildren just once, she would’ve really loved them both.

“I love them now.”

“Yea well…we’re in my head and it’s really questionable on whether or not you’re actually real. Besides you haven’t met them. I wish you had, you’d find them as endlessly entertaining as I do. Between the fact that Owen’s too friggin’ smart for his own good and the fact that Chompy is just as intelligent and a dragon to boot well you’d be giving them all sorts of candy and treats and hyping them up before handing them back to me.”

“Of course I would have. I’d also tell them all the stories of your childhood, like the time you stuffed Mrs. Lumpkin’s cat down your shirt to pretend you had chest hair because Steve had managed to convince you that was the only way you’d get it was to have the cat become one with you. I think the best part was that the cat refused to be coaxed out of your shirt because it was the middle of January and it liked being warm.”

This was why he never pretended to have dignity around Sarah Rogers in his dreams, because any belief he had once had dignity was thoroughly demolished. She’d seen him…not at his worst, not really in life, but she had been there for when he had been a child and a teen. She had been there for his mistakes, for his innocence, for his silliness. She’d kissed his skinned knees and tutted over his health, she’d had glaring matches with nuns over his respectability, she’d held him when he’d cried over being in love with her son. He had never had to pretend to be an adult around her, to take responsibility, to take care. Even when she’d been dying by inches from pneumonia she had badgered both Bucky and Steve into still being her children, her wards, and trying to wrench the burden of her declining health from their hands with smiles and laughter and terrible jokes.

She had been the only person in his entire life to see everything in him, to see the good and the bad and the ridiculous, and love him regardless of it all. She’d seen more of his soul than Steve had and still believed he was something worth her time.

And maybe that was why he sought her out still. Not always like this, not in the dreams. These dreams only came when something had gone _wrong_. No, he sought her out in another way. He always had when he had needed to talk to someone, even if she was dead and couldn’t offer him a lick of advice. It was nice talking to her, even if it was her headstone.

There weren’t many things Bucky could do for Mrs. Rogers anymore. He couldn’t protect Steve, he couldn’t go out and ‘find someone nice’, he couldn’t get a ‘nice job’, and he couldn’t be a ‘good person’. Bucky had gone far past person and into monster territory but if he said that aloud, even in his dreams, Mrs. Rogers was going to smack him upside his head. No, Bucky had fulfilled only one thing she had wanted from him and that was ‘give her grandchildren’. He’d failed everything else spectacularly, in a way Bucky hadn’t known he’d been able to but managed to anyhow.

So all he could do to make it up to her, the only thing he could do to make it up to her, was tend to her grave in the crappy little cemetery that they’d buried her in. He’d done it before, back before the war, when he was young and naïve and thought being homosexual was the worst sin he’d commit. Every week without fail he’d go to make sure the grave was clear of debris, that everything was neat, and if he could get her some flowers. Steve had joined him half the time, because he had missed her too. But when Steve had been there Bucky hadn’t been able to talk to her as much, words catching in his throat because most of what he babbled to her about when he was on his hands and knees picking up leaves and sticks was about Steve. How irritating Steve was, how wonderful Steve was, how much he wanted to strangle her son, how much he wanted to kiss her son, how scared he was that Steve might not make it through the winter, how relieved he was when Steve did. She’d been the only person who’d listened to him in life about Steve and she had still been the only one to listen to him about Steve in death.

Now he did it, sometimes talking about Steve, sometimes talking about Captain America, sometimes asking her if what he remembered was real or if it was fake, sometimes asking her for advice on how to raise children, sometimes telling her about all the changes in New York. He talked to her because he had no one else he could honestly talk to about everything. He didn’t mind kneeling once more, moving away leaves and sticks, leaving flowers to make things a little nicer. Bucky wondered what Captain America thought about whenever he came to her grave. Did he realize it was Bucky or did he think that someone else was doing it? He didn’t know, Bucky had lost most of his ability to predict Captain America’s thoughts.

“-ucky? Bucky?”

Blinking in surprise Bucky tilted his head back to look at Mrs. Rogers. Her lips were pressed into a thin line of concern.

“Sorry. I was just…thinking.”

She sighed and looked at him fondly but with more than a little exasperation.

“I wanted to know if you were going to be alright.”

He opened his mouth to lie. He didn’t want to worry her, even now, even though she was just probably a piece of his subconscious. Except…she was the only one he’d let worry over him now. Everyone else was either untrustworthy or needed him to be in control. Even if she wasn’t real, she was the only one who could hold onto the truth. So he let his mask fall away, let the sadness creep into his eyes and the bitter resignation twist his mouth.

“Probably not. But whatever happens I’ll survive it.” The laugh he let out was breathless and broken. “Ain’t like Steve hasn’t hurt me before or left either. Both happened before, a lot worse has happened before, and I might not be the same afterwards but I’ll live through it. I gotta this time anyways, got my kids to look after.”

“I don’t think Steve meant to do either of those things Bucky. If only you-“

“Told him? Told him I loved him so much I was stupid with it? Told him I needed him like air? Told him he was the right dance partner for me? Told him I hated myself for not being able ta do right by him? Told him that he made me wanna live life instead of survive it? Told him that I’d do anything to make him smile? Told him that he ripped my goddamn sorry excuse for a heart out when he left me high and dry tha night before I shipped out? Told him I never felt safe from that day on? Told him I hated his girl and all his neat little friends in tha SSR? Told him what Mrs. Rogers? Told him _what_? I don’t got many pieces left o’ me, Mrs. Rogers. I…” Buck breathed in a shuddering breath. “He’s back, Stevie’s back but I ain’t what I was, who I was, and I’m tha guy who’d he hate. I’m not his Bucky. I’m… I… I don’t wanna be reminded again that while I meant something to him, I wasn’t enough to keep him from committing suicide. I wasn’t enough…and it’s stupid but it’s been decades since then and it still hurts.”

“My stupid heartbroken boy.” Sarah murmured, tugging him over and into her arms. Bucky could tell she wanted to wallop him and wrap him in a blanket all at once. “You’re gonna have to talk to him sometime. You can’t hide from him forever.”

“Didja forget that I’m a super assassin?” Bucky chuckled into her shoulder, clinging to her and trying to keep the tears from coming.

“Didja forget we’re talking about Steve? You could be in a different dimension and he’d be able to find you. You two always were able to find each other no matter what.” She shot back even as her fingers began running through his hair soothingly.

“He’d have to be Steve and I’d have to be Bucky for that to happen.”

“He’s always been _Steve_ and you’ve always been _Bucky_ nothing in this world can change that.” She admonished him even as she tried to make him feel better. “Not even torture and death. You’re still you, he’s still him, and you’re both idiots but you’re my idiots. Now go on. I think you’re needed.”

Then it was over. It was gone, just as it always was, and Bucky woke. Before the war it’d take him half a pot of crappy coffee to become verbal and coherent before noon. During the war his verbal ability and coherency had become instantaneous as soon as he woke and it hadn’t changed. There had never been a time for lazy mornings, for the slow restart of cognitive and physical functions, but most importantly Bucky couldn’t allow himself even that laziness because laziness could mean life or death. It was always life or death.

So he opened his eyes and immediately wished he hadn’t.

“Chompy, Owen, there better be a good reason why there is a pillow fortification ‘n a moat o’ fire around my bed. Also good reasons do not include the following words ‘Tony’ ‘Stark’ and or ‘Permission’. Now _explain_.” It didn’t matter that Bucky still had splints on his limps and a cocktail of drugs sluicing through his veins and making everything fuzzy and warm. There were pillows set up around his bed like the old sandbag fortifications he had helped build and hide behind during the War (which in hindsight perhaps had not been a good lesson to teach his children), a ring of fire outside the pillows, and his two children sitting on his bed glaring mutinously towards the elevator. Owen was wearing a sieve on his head and Chompy’s head had a teacup that Owen had likely graciously tied to his head like a bonnet.

Owen’s lips thinned and his shoulders hunched. He shook his head mutely and hunkered down, looking ready to lob things over the ring of fire. Chompy glanced at Owen then back at Bucky. He nudged Owen once, seeming to hand off the duty of watching for whoever or whatever had been deemed the enemy while he walked up the bed and carefully situated himself on Bucky’s lap. Then Chompy began to tell the tale of what had happened.

If anyone else had tried to listen to the small reptilian creature all they would have heard was a mixture of chirps, trills, and squawks. Except Bucky had begun to learn Chompy’s words, or more akin his thought processes and how he tried to communicate with the rest of the world. Bucky parsed through most of it from watching Chompy’s body and remembering certain noises went with certain key phrases.

Chompy was halfway through his explanation when a throat cleared on Bucky’s right side.

“I can uh…explain Buck.”

“Oh good God.” Bucky moaned his metal hand coming up to cover his face in despair. “You led my children into a revolt. You’re Enjorlas! You’re Enjorlas and I’m Grantaire with Eponine sprinkles and I’m going to friggin’ die on the pillow barricade. I hope you’re happy you dirty Frenchman.”

“Bucky I’m _sorry_. I went to go get some breakfast and overheard some folk talking about getting in here to lock you up while you were down. I got mad and came back in here and told Jarvis not to let anyone in here that wanted to take you away and then your kids panicked a bit. I helped them build the pillow wall because I thought that would make them feel better but then Chompy started spitting fire and I wasn’t sure how to stop him from doing that. It’s only been about ten minutes since then, I took your iv out because Stark said your metabolism was accelerated and he was going to let you wake up tonight anyways. I just sped it up.”

Bucky let out a stream of Russian curses so foul he was certain that the nuns in the orphanage would be stockpiling soap to try and wash his mouth out. It never worked, honestly, it always made him more determined to learn the foulest language possible so that he could store it up and let it out on the very last day he stayed in the orphanage. Actually he did manage to do that and gave Steve an asthma attack from the sheer blasphemy (and unrestrained laughter). He had grinned wickedly at the sisters and winked at all the children who had decided to help send him off. It was one of the better memories, especially as he hauled Steve down the street cackling with breathless laughter before the sisters could react and try to make a grab for him.

“I don’t know what you just said Buck but are you sure you’re supposed to say that in front of children?”

Bucky shot Steve a frosty glare even as Owen turned around, the tenseness of his shoulders relaxing just a little.

“He’s right you’re not supposed to curse.”

“I am an adult and I can curse when I want to. Just like when you’re an adult I’ll let you curse when you want to.” Bucky explained.

Owen relaxed a little more, glancing at the elevator door warily before he moved and clambered over to Bucky’s left side. Wrapping his arms around Bucky he burrowed into his side. Bucky took his left hand and carefully ran it through Owen’s hair as Owen pressed his right ear to Bucky’s heart. The sieve was pressed uncomfortably into his skin, but he wasn’t about to tell Owen to take it off. Not when Owen and Chompy were both still skittish.

“I’ll be okay kotyonok.” Bucky soothed. “Right as rain in no time. You’ll see. Though as much as I appreciate your, Steve’s, and Chompy’s efforts in protecting me, you should have gone to Tony or Pepper for help. There would have been less need for fire.”

“Can we really trust them not to try and take you Buck?”

Bucky sighed. “I trust Tony and Pepper with my life. If I didn’t I wouldn’t have let him drug me on the quinjet or let her watch Owen while going to rescue you. They would do their best to protect me and their best is very impressive. Whoever you overheard was not connected to them, likely Shield maybe Hydra. Either way if you get me out of the splints we won’t have to worry about either party.”

The moment Hydra was mentioned Chompy hissed, every feather on his body fluffing out to make him appear twice his size.

“Chompy they won’t take you back.” It was less of a gentle reassurance and more of a cold hard fact. Bucky would never ever let Hydra get their hands on Chompy again, he would never let them get their hands on Owen. No one was going to touch his children in anything resembling a threatening or harmful manner and live to tell the tale about it.

Chompy made a distressed noise, a whimper, as he turned so his eyes were on the door and he had backed himself into Bucky’s chest. Bucky didn’t sigh, he knew that fear, that constant worry that ate away at him in the back of his mind. He would never fault Chompy for his reaction, if he was in Chompy’s position he’d act the same way as well. Except he was the adult here.

“Jarvis? Can you tell Tony that there’s a code ‘Blood Orange Fox’ going on?” Bucky spoke to the ceiling.

“I already informed him when Captain Rogers came in here to give me the orders that no one was allowed in the infirmary. It was fortuitous that Captain Rogers overheard what he did or else I would not have known that my security protocols had been breached. Mr. Stark, Ms. Potts, and the other Avengers are currently handling the situation. Ms. Potts has informed me to inform you that they shall be done within an hour and if the fire has not burned out by then or spread then she will handle it.”

Bucky nodded. “Thanks Jarvis.” Looking between Steve and his kids Bucky tried to think of something they could do to entertain themselves for an hour that wasn’t talking about missions or feelings or the past. As Steve slowly worked Bucky out of his splints he had an idea.

“Soooo who wants to play I-Spy?”


End file.
